Black Sky
by Umei no Mai
Summary: It's not easy being a Black, especially when you are also the Potter Heir and Dumbledore wants to martyr you over a very dubious prophecy. Dorea's not going to go quietly though: she's not the heir of the nastiest and most feared Magical family in British history for nothing! A Fem!Harry story. Slow Build.
1. Chapter 1

Beta'd by the amazing InsaneScriptist

I am not JK Rowling and do not own the Harry Potter franchise, though my take on the story is all my own.

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><p><strong>Where it started<strong>

James Potter had discovered he couldn't have children halfway through his last year of Hogwarts.

It had been an accidental discovery: Slughorn had been talking about how potions accidents could have long-term health effects if not properly screened and treated on time, a tactic no doubt designed to cover his back should those students attempting to impress him accidentally mess themselves up while attempting the more challenging brews in their free time and not tell Pomphrey, but James had found himself wondering about all those prank potions the Marauders had brewed over the years and how some of them had gone wrong. The explosions had been entertaining afterwards but getting to know Lily had educated him about how Muggles hospitalised people who had been near fires and explosions due to them breathing in smoke and volatiles which damaged the lungs.

James hadn't been able to stop worrying about possibly damaging his friends, so he, Sirius and Remus had got Lily to help them learn the Diagnosis Charm, using a quill as the medium so that injuries and so-on would be written down rather than visible to the caster. It took a bit of modifying but Remus wasn't top of Arithmancy for nothing. They'd cast it on Remus first, since his furry problem would counter most other medical issues and would be the test of whether they'd got the charm right.

It did work, right down to the inoculations Remus had been given as a child, so James cast the spell on Peter while Remus did it on Sirius. Then Sirius cast it on James. Those copies were private, since Remus' copy had proved that yes, he _had_ taken potion damage but his furry problem had fixed it before it set in. The other three Marauders didn't have lycanthropy so they were all bound to have taken some damage, which made James angry that Slughorn hadn't said something to this effect in first year. Even third year would have been soon enough. There had been no few accidents in class after all, a few with potentially dangerous ingredients the Potions Master hadn't made them all see Pomfrey about.

Peter didn't share what was on his paper, going very red then burning it, and none of the others really wanted to ask as they had their own diagnoses to focus on. Sirius discovered that an accident in third year had messed up his inhibitions and made him reckless, which sounded cool but was really bad considering there was a war on and he might get people killed and himself with them. It also destroyed Sirius' dream of becoming an auror, which depressed him for several weeks. James learned that the funny fizzy potion he had been tweaking for a prolonged bubbling phase that had abruptly boiled dry on him in fifth year while Sirius and Peter were in detention had over the past two years made him completely infertile. He had researched the plant that had induced the fizzy effect afterwards and learned that it was a common ingredient in Fertility Potions, so he hadn't been too bothered about it then. Going back to the Restricted Section after his diagnosis however revealed that when said ingredient was brewed with Gurdyroots the resulting potion was commonly fed to Magical Creatures to prevent them from breeding. James had breathed in a lot of fumes, so its effect on him was not at all surprising. Why wasn't this kind of thing mentioned in class!

James confessed this to Sirius privately after Sirius told him about his inability to become an auror or even a hit wizard. Sirius had been shocked, instantly shoving his own depression aside and spending the next five hours persuading his best friend not to break off his fledgling relationship with Lily Evans. James resisted his friend's arguments until Sirius swore an oath as James' adopted brother to assist him in having children in any way possible that didn't involve breaking eventual marriage vows, at which point the Potter heir folded like a cheap table and spent a further half-hour sobbing in relief at being able to not feel guilty about continuing his relationship with his girlfriend.

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><p>They never told Remus or Peter about either problem –it didn't feel right– but by the time they graduated James had found a potion that in normal people instilled mild paranoia but just made Sirius a bit more careful. It wasn't even addictive or poisonous over long periods of time, but did make latent paranoia more likely in the long run. Sirius just pointed out that for him that might be a good thing and James sighed, resigning himself to monthly brewing sessions in the basement with his brother for the rest of their lives.<p>

Sirius on the other hand managed to sneak back into his childhood home in Grimmauld Place and steal a book on bloodline theft from the library. Since getting Lily to conceive without Sirius actually touching her would _technically_ be done by means similar to bloodline theft, James was okay with it. If uncomfortable, as bloodline theft was _wrong_ and doing it to his brother was doubly wrong, no matter how willing said brother was and that it had been Sirius' idea in the first place. The book also had details on blood-adoption that would pass goblin and magical scrutiny because House Black had of course tested and documented such things extensively in their murky past, so James would be able to make Lily's children his true heirs rather than just adopting them into his family.

Sirius hadn't wanted to tell Lily about James' problem, especially after finding out that for the potion to work the man involved had to be capable of fathering children –he'd hoped that with a potion James would be able to sire the kid because while ideal that kind of magical solution didn't seem to exist yet and neithr man had the genius to invent it– but James had insisted. Had told her right after proposing, in fact, so she could back out if she wanted. Lily had been horrified, but then her love, compassion and thirst for knowledge had kicked in and she'd hugged her fiancé and demanded to be in on the research. It had taken them a year to get everything just right in between fighting with the Order of the Phoenix, what with sorting out wills, custody, inheritance and so on as well as making sure the potion would work, but on the first of November a year after they graduated Lily drank the potion and a week later informed James and Sirius that they were going to be fathers. James did the blood adoption immediately: the ritual was a simple one often used in the middle ages to 'legitimise' children conceived through rape or love potions. A proper paternity test would reveal Sirius Black to be the baby's father, but the child would look a bit like James and register to the goblins as a Potter as well as a Black. If the goblins got curious then James just had to point out that his mother was a Black. As James was the only Potter left, that would make the baby his heir.

Picking out a name took forever though, even after Lily announced that the baby was a girl. Sirius was determined that the baby would be a Potter first, so tried to get James to pick the name. James insisted that Sirius should choose as actual father and Lily eventually got sick and tired of the stupidity and declared that the baby would be Dorea Rose Black-Potter. Sirius then risked life and limb pointing out that 'Rose' was rather plain as a name and had a book thrown at him. James quickly stepped in by suggesting 'Rosamund', which he eventually admitted was what his mother would have called him if he'd been born a girl. Sirius howled with laughter, Lily calmed down enough to giggle and James pouted at his wife and brother but secretly felt it was worth it. Even though Sirius charmed his hair pink for a week afterwards and called him 'Rosebud'.

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><p>When the baby was born, a lovely little girl with a shock of curly black hair and clear blue eyes that soon turned brilliant green like her mother's, James put her full name on the birth certificate for the family Vault but only put 'Rose Potter' in the Daily Prophet announcement. His daughter might be named after his mother but she had been a Black and Sirius' great aunt so 'Dorea' would be his daughter's 'Black' name. They were at war after all and keeping his precious baby girl safe was what mattered. If she would be safer as a Black –which she probably would– then a Black she would be.<p>

Keeping Lily and his little Rose safe was unfortunately getting more and more difficult by the day: even with Sirius' help the war was getting ever more heated and even though Potter Manor where he'd grown up had excellent wards it was large and its location practically public knowledge. If the Death Eaters decided to besiege it they would take casualties but eventually break through. So rather than stay there James rotated his family through the half-dozen smaller cottages, holiday homes and town house the Potters owned on an irregular schedule while Lily threw herself into studying Charms and Runes in a quest to find a more permanent solution.

Lily's initial solution was runic and her Mastery project: using Rose's cot as a focus she built a protective ward to guard their daughter from harm. All three of them regularly donated blood to the runes to strengthen them and so long as Rose was in the cot when attacked nobody else would be able to remove her or harm her. Unfortunately the ward was unlikely to hold up against the Killing Curse or Fiendfyre, but that was a pretty small loophole really. Lily was still researching charms when Dumbledore suggested the Fidelius Charm, which he had found in his library.

James and Sirius both found it hilarious that, rather than let Dumbledore cast the charm, Lily insisted on learning it herself. She didn't manage to master it until after Rose's first birthday, by which point things were getting slightly desperate as four of the Potter residences and Sirius' flat had all been invaded and trashed by Death Eaters.

Dumbledore offered his own house to James and Lily then, stating that since he lived in Hogwarts and had for over fifty years now it would be a perfect place to go to ground. Lily agreed so James went along with it, intending to keep their hiding in Godric's Hollow as a short interval during which he could fix up the ruined properties and Lily could cast Fidelius on the still intact ones. It would also give him time to root out the spy in the Order, as for the Death Eaters to have found some of the destroyed properties a spy had to have told them: the only living people to have visited them were all in the Order. James didn't believe for a moment that Remus was the spy, but was happy to let others think it as it would encourage complacency and give him and Sirius a chance to catch the real traitor.

It was mid-October when the house in Godric's Hollow was finally ready to move into, so James, Lily and Rose settled in. But Sirius was worried about news of their using the charm having got out and suggested Peter be secret keeper while he acted as a decoy. Lily didn't like it but James could understand where his brother was coming from, so persuaded his wife to agree. It took a further week for them to track down Peter, but their old friend agreed at once and Lily cast the charm on October 26th.

Five days later James learned who the _real_ traitor was and cursed Peter Pettigrew with his dying breath as Voldemort stepped over the threshold. His last thought was a plea for Lily's runework to hold up and for Sirius to look after their daughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Beta'd by the brilliant Insane Scriptist.

I am not JK Rowling and do not own the Harry Potter franchise, much as I would like to be that rich.

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><p><strong>Of secrets revealed<strong>

Sirius had been looking for Peter when he felt his adopted brother die; that his old school friend wasn't in the pre-arranged hiding-place then abruptly made an awful kind of sense and the disgraced Black dashed out to his motorbike and took to the air. He could have apparated to Godric's Hollow but that would have meant leaving the bike and its numerous enhancements behind, which would be dumb considering the number of wards Lily had helped him add to it since Dorry-Rose was born. If James was dead then Sirius was already too late and all he could do was hope that Lily's Blood Ward on the crib would hold up.

He was still a good way away when a flash on the horizon filled him with dread; the sluggish roar that followed it a minute later had him leaning forward and pushing the Speed Charms to their limits until the cottage came into view.

It was trashed: half the ceiling had been blown off along with a good chunk off wall. Sirius almost fell off the bike in his hurry to get inside the building when he realised that the hole corresponded with the nursery. Charging through the destroyed front door Sirius spared a moment to take in his brother's body slumped in the hall, slain by the killing curse, before hurrying upstairs. The nursery door was half off its hinges and mostly missing, there was splintered wood all over the floor and Lily's body was slumped in front of the cot. _My fault_, Sirius mourned, cursing himself for ever having trusted Pettigrew.

The miraculously semi-intact cot looked like parts of it had spontaneously combusted and had rune-shaped burns gouged deeply into its remaining fabric. Sirius took in the location of the cot compared to the explosive damage done to the building and realised that it was firmly at the epicentre. Had the runes worked?

There was a soft whimper as the blankets shifted. "Mama?"

Sirius almost apparated to the cot, leaning over the edge to scoop up his precious, miraculously alive baby girl and clutch her close as he tried not to cry in relief. "Dorry-Rose, Papa's here," he crooned, wrapping the cot blanket around her more snugly to protect her from the bitter autumn air. The cot was completely burned out but had done what it had been supposed to, which was protect Dorry-Rose. The puffy focus rune now burned into her forehead suggested that the Blood Ward had done something unexpected –which Lily had warned them might happen as Blood Wards were too strong to be stable when anchored in wood– but as this had been a strictly protective ward Siruis wasn't too worried about it. He could investigate it later, once his baby girl was safe. The cot collapsed completely into ash and splinters as soon as Dorry-Rose was out of it, confirming Sirius' suspicions that the Ward had been the only thing holding it together.

"Papa, Mama?" Dorry-Rose mumbled, snuggling closer as Sirius tucked her inside his coat.

"Mama's gone baby girl," Sirius said, voice hitching. "Dada's gone too, so be good for your Papa please?"

"Papa go?"

"No! No, Papa is staying with his Dorry," Sirius said firmly, "but Papa needs to find your blankets and Mama's travel bag." Lily had an emergency grab bag with all the required baby things that she kept by the Floo and she was unlikely to have unpacked it just yet. All the previous shuffling around Potter properties at odd times had taught them all that a baby bag was a good thing to keep at hand because even with magic settling in took time and you never knew when you might be attacked and have to leave in a hurry. Being without nappies had only happened once but it had been one time too many! Quickly casting a monitoring ward around the ruined property he set off to find what few important things were actually in the house: Lily's latest research notebooks, James' keys, both their wands, the photo albums and all of Dorry-Rose's toys and clothing. It took less than ten minutes to pack it all up in the motorbike saddlebags and change his daughter into clothes more suited to late night air travel. Yes, he desperately wanted to hunt down Peter and blast him into a hundred screaming pieces but that was partly his recklessness talking. The potion instilling caution in his was however letting his good sense make itself heard too and that was the advice he was following. His daughter came first.

"Sirius?" Sirius straightened up from tying down the saddlebags and turned quickly, pointing his wand at the looming shadow just outside the reach of his temporary ward then relaxed slightly. It was Hagrid.

"Hagrid? What are you doing here?" he asked, casually unravelling the ward and sitting down on the bike saddle.

"Dumbledore sent me," the massive man said, taking in the destroyed cottage, "'e said somethin' was wrong. Lily and James-"

"Dead; Voldemort got them," Sirius said grimly, glad that Dorry-Rose was asleep in her carrier under his coat and invisible to the casual observer due to expansion charms on the coat lining. Sirius was fond of the gamekeeper, but the man couldn't keep a secret to save his life –or anyone else's– and his daughter had to stay a secret. Her young and fragile life depended on it. Peter's betrayal had seriously shaken his trust in the Order so no matter how nice the half-giant was, he didn't get to know.

"Both of em? No!" The half-giant looked shattered. "An' little Rose?"

Sirius twitched. "Rose?"

Hagrid looked puzzled. "Dumbledore tol' me to take 'er. Said 'e's got somewhere safe set up for 'er. Where is she?"

Sirius made a snap decision. Peter had just betrayed them and Dumbledore already had a contingency plan for his daughter? _Just_ his daughter? Nothing about James or Lily, whose bodies were still cooling behind him? That was fishy. Too fishy. James had told him about the prophecy and they'd agreed it was hogwash, but it sounded like Dumbledore _believed_ it. So Sirius had to protect his daughter from the meddling old man as well as possibly from Voldemort, because if his Dark upbringing had taught him anything it was that nothing good _ever _came of pandering to prophecies.

"There is no Rose Potter," Sirius said harshly, kicking the motorbike into life and taking off before Hagrid could stop him. His own flat was a wreck, his planned hidey-hole was out of the question as he'd told Peter about it in case the rat needed somewhere to go, so all that was left was his relatives. Hopefully his grandfather Arcturus hadn't actually disowned him when his damned mother blasted him off the tapestry in the town house…

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><p>As it happened Sirius had not been disowned, since he was able to land his motorbike on the cobbled courtyard at the back of Black Manor by the stable block without incident. Wheeling the bike into an empty stall he unhooked the saddlebags, slung them over his shoulder and trudged across the yard to the kitchen doors. The house-elves would be up at least, even at this hour of the night. He raised a hand to knock but the door was opened before he could actually touch the wood. Blinking, Sirius looked down into the huge-eyed, bat-eared and wrinkled face of Tansy, who was wearing a neat tea towel with the Black crest on it and giving him The Look that James' mother had always worn when he missed something obvious.<p>

"Ah, hello Tansy?" He said sheepishly. He hadn't seen the elf since he was thirteen but she ran his grandfather's kitchens with efficiency and style.

"Tansy has been expecting master Sirius for several years now," the house-elf said sternly, "but Tansy supposes that late is better than not at all."

"Sorry Tansy; I didn't know if I was welcome or not," Sirius apologised.

Tansy sniffed. "Master Sirius is last heir of Master Black! Of course master Sirius is welcome!"

Sirius felt Dory-Rose stir in her carrier under his coat and realised she probably needed changing. "Tansy?"

"Yes Master Sirius?"

"Can I come in? My daughter probably needs changing."

Sirius was not entirely sure _what_ happened after he said that, but a few minutes later he was sitting at the kitchen table eating omelette while Tansy cooed over 'little mistress Dorry' and another much younger female elf –Mimsy– carted off Sirius' bags while promising to 'sort out rooms for the young master and the little mistress!' Sirius just let it happen: his grandfather's elves had always been kind to him, unlike his mother's disgusting little sycophant Kreacher.

"Tansy?"

"Yes master Sirius?"

"Is Grandfather here?"

"Master Black is asleep upstairs, but Tansy can wake him if it is urgent," the house-elf said thoughtfully.

"It isn't urgent Tansy, not really, but do you think Dorry and I can stay here for a while? Dorry's mother was murdered earlier tonight and this was the safest place I could think of."

Tansy's eyes widened. "Master Sirius' lady-love is dead? Tansy is sorry!"

Sirius tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it, even at the idea of James' wife Lily being his, Sirius', lady-love. She'd been more like his sister. "It wasn't your fault Tansy. I know whose fault it is though and as soon as I've talked to Grandfather and made sure everything is set up for Dorry I'm going to hunt him down and make him _pay_." He took a deep, steadying breath. "James Potter is dead too."

"Tansy is sad to hear that master Sirius' friend is dead," the house-elf said tactfully. "Was master Sirius' friend missy Dorea's son?" Tansy was old enough to have been around before James' parents had married, Sirius realised, and Dorea Black had been Grandfather Arcturus' cousin.

"Yes, he was," Sirius managed. "That's why we named my daughter after her. Dorea Rosamund Black." Because the 'Potter' bit was a secret he'd not be sharing until he was _sure_ he could trust his grandfather.

Then Mimsy came back into the kitchen to tell them that the rooms were ready, his grandfather's primary house-elf Lurcher in tow. The male elf then hustled Sirius and Dorry off upstairs, where the room he'd always stayed in as a child had been cleaned and aired and a crib placed by the dresser. Sirius cautiously examined the crib, determined it was safe so long as the child inside really _was_ a Black then lowered his sleeping daughter into it. Nothing happened, so he carefully activated the crib's security and monitoring runes then stripped off, quickly washed in the connected bathroom and fell into bed. Hopefully Dorry would sleep in a little after the night she'd had.

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><p>Dorry did not, unfortunately, sleep in. Instead she followed her usual routine of waking at 6:15 precisely to demand food. Sirius staggered out of bed for just long enough to get his daughter out of the cradle and hand her over to Mimsy, then fell back into bed and slept until nine, when Lurcher woke him.<p>

"Master Black is calling you to breakfast, master Sirius," the aging elf said firmly, flipping back Sirius' bedcovers with a snap of the fingers and yanking the curtains wide to let in the pale morning sun. Sirius groaned, but dutifully staggered through the shower and into the formal clothes Lurcher had laid out. Grandfather Arcturus was a crotchety old man but he was no pureblood supremacist fanatic and while strict, he could be kind. After dressing Sirius headed for the door, then turned around and dug through the saddlebag leaning against the dressing table for a vial of Caution Concoction. He knew that if he hadn't been drinking it regularly he'd have been hunting Peter even now, baby in tow no matter how bad that would have been for her. He noticed that he didn't have many left; he and James had intended to brew more tomorrow.

That memory was abruptly too much for Sirius and he collapsed to the carpet, sobbing bitterly. _My brother and his wife are dead and it's all my fault. If only I hadn't tried to be clever! I should have been secret keeper; it wasn't going to be for long. Now my daughter is motherless and I have to raise her alone. My best friend is dead, Peter betrayed us and Remus is who-knows where._

"Master Sirius?" Lurcher was back, looking apologetic but resolute. The house-elf offered him a hanky, which Sirius accepted to blow his nose with as he tried to compose himself. He needed to be able to explain things concisely and coherently to his grandfather, the Lord Black, for little Dorry's sake. The Caution Concoction made him better at thinking things through, so he quickly downed the potion and set the empty vial aside.

Taking a moment to splash his face with cold water, Sirius then followed Lurcher downstairs to the Breakfast Room, where Arcturus Black was sitting in a leather armchair sipping a cup of tea and reading the Daily Prophet. At the small table facing him was a place set for Sirius with toast, porridge, bacon and scrambled egg, all under stasis charms to keep them fresh and hot. Dorry was sat on the floor a little to one side, dressed in an old-fashioned romper suit and pinafore and playing with a battered toy hippogriff that seemed familiar. She looked up as soon as Sirius entered the room and waved the stuffed animal at him.

"Papa! Hifi!" She looked so utterly delighted that Sirius wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. He did manage to smile though.

"That's a very fine hippogriff you have there, baby girl. Who gave it to you?"

The one-year-old beamed. "Gapa." She then squealed, waving the toy around for a few moments before hugging it. Sirius smiled helplessly at his daughter's antics and sat down to eat breakfast. He wasn't hungry, but he wasn't about to offend Tansy by refusing to eat her cooking.

He'd managed to eat half the scrambled egg, two rashers of bacon and one slice of toast and marmalade when Dorry-Rose's giggling and his grandfather's sharp intake of breath made him look up. The hippogriff toy was floating in the air, bouncing in time with Dorry-Rose's delighted wriggling. Sirius glanced at his grandfather and smothered a snort of amusement at the old man's expression of gobsmacked pride. Little Dorry-Rose took after her mother in being extremely bright and had been showing accidental magic for six months now. Well, it probably wasn't _really_ accidental as she had definitely turned James' hair green on purpose and this levitation seemed pretty deliberate.

Grandfather then noticed Sirius' laughter and glared at him, but it was a fond, tolerant glare. Grandfather Arcturus had always been accepting, as had his son Orion, Sirius' father, but unfortunately when Sirius had been growing up that quiet tolerance had been completely subsumed by Sirius' mother Walburga's loud, intolerant fanaticism. If his father had been even slightly supportive Sirius wouldn't have run away from home aged sixteen.

"She's been doing this since she was seven months old now," Sirius said, deciding against dragging up the past; "making things float, summoning things, turning toys and people's hair different colours and conjuring little lights."

The elderly Lord Black smiled. "A very talented young lady then."

Sirius did not say that Dorry took after her mother; the words caught in his throat as he was painfully reminded that Lily Potter was dead.

"Anyway, I was hoping you could explain _this_," Grandfather said, straightening the newspaper and turning it around so Sirius could see the front page.

Sirius nearly dropped his teacup as he took in the headline.

**You-Know-Who defeated! **

**Rose Potter survives Killing Curse!**

"Well," he managed to say after a pause to mentally curse the Daily Prophet and its distinctly loose reporting style, "I have no idea about the first one but the second is definitely untrue."

Arcturus Black raised an eyebrow at his grandson. "According to the Prophet dozens of Imperius victims have been turning themselves into the Ministry to testify, captured Death Eaters are sporting faded Dark Marks and Dumbledore himself has asserted that the Dark Lord is no more. The Unspeakables who examined the scene at Potter Cottage agree that the Dark Lord was killed by his own Killing Curse that was somehow reflected back at him after he had killed both Potters. According to Dumbledore, as Rose Potter was the only other person in the house and the event took place in the nursery, the Dark Lord appears to have died after the curse he fired on her was somehow reflected back at him. Later on in the article they refer to Rose Potter as 'The Girl Who Lived'; ridiculous." He sniffed.

Sirius tried to take it in. On the one hand, Voldemort's death was a tremendous relief. On the other, so many people were dead like James and Lily, and most of the Death Eaters were still at large, his crazy cousin Bellatrix included.

"Is this _really_ your daughter, Sirius?" his grandfather inquired, glancing pointedly down at the curly-haired, green-eyed toddler now crawling across the floor towards a small pile of other toys.

"Yes," Sirius said firmly. "Her name is Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter and she is my firstborn and heir, as well as the heir to the Potter family by adoption." Taking a deep breath, Sirius plunged on, "James couldn't have children –there was a potions accident at school– so I promised to help him find an alternative. I brewed the potion for Lily to drink and once she was pregnant James performed the Line Adoption ritual. We did all the paperwork and filed everything correctly; Lily helped. It's legal, it's ironclad and Dorry's my daughter to raise as I see fit. If James and Lily had lived she would have been Rose Potter but with them both dead she's Dorea Black. As James' adopted brother the Potter estates fall under my stewardship until little Dorry either reaches her majority or marries, whichever comes first. Then she'll be Lady Potter until her second son reaches his majority. I've written it down specifically that only I have the authority to arrange a marriage for my daughter and that I will not do so before she is fourteen years of age." He took another breath. "I want her to be _safe_, Grandfather, and James and Lily were betrayed by someone we all believed to be a friend. Can you take care of her for me?"

"You want to leave her here?" Arcturus looked deeply disapproving.

"No! Well, yes, but not for more than a few days!" Sirius pleaded. "I _have_ to hunt down Pettigrew and make him pay for betraying James and Lily to Voldemort! It was all my fault! I suggested he be trusted with the Secret and he sold them out! Please?"

"Very well," the aging Lord Black said with a sigh, "but I will be introducing her to those of the family whom I feel can be trusted. I'm not young, my boy, and I don't have the energy to chase after a toddler all day. Lurcher, Tansy and Mimsy don't either; I will have to acquire a new elf or three."

"Who then?" Sirius demanded nervously.

"Lucretia, Cassiopea and Callidora certainly; young Dorea needs female influences in her life. Probably Pollux; possibly Cedrella as well if she deigns to respond to an owl. I may even invite Andromeda; I hear her daughter is a Metamorphagus and I wish to meet her husband."

Sirius had always been fond of his cousin Andromeda, who had been disowned by his uncle Cygnus Black after running away right after graduating to marry her muggleborn Hufflepuff boyfriend, Ted Tonks. If Dorea being introduced to his frankly intimidating Black great-aunts was the price he had to pay for Andromeda to get welcomed back into the family he would go along with it. "I can agree with that, though I would prefer her not to meet Cygnus at all." He paused, letting the caveat be acknowledged since Cygnus was inordinately proud of his daughter Bellatrix and early as fanatical about blood-purity as his sister Walburga, Sirius's mother. "I don't mind her meeting Narcissa, so long as she isn't left with her, providing nobody finds out who Dorry's mother was. I refuse to cause a scandal and drag my best friends' names into the mud."

"That is perfectly acceptable; I will simply state that her mother was not a pure blood and died during the War," Arcturus said calmly. "Do return as swiftly as you can."

"I will; my daughter needs me," Sirius said resolutely. He then got up and hugged Dorry, who blinked up at him curiously.

"Papa?"

"I'll be back soon, baby girl," he promised with a smile. "Papa always comes back, remember?"

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><p>Finding Pettigrew that very evening and getting framed for his murder and that of twelve innocent bystanders by the cowardly rat was all a bit too much for Sirius. When he finally recovered from his breakdown it was too late: he was locked in Azkaban with no hope of escape or trial. Dumbledore had attested to his being the Potters' Secret Keeper and Sirius' own suppressed guilt and grief combined with his erratic emotional state had reduced the time between Pettigrew's spell and waking up in the cell to a blurred fever-dream. Two things kept him sane: his innocence of the crimes he was accused of and his promise to his daughter.<p>

Sirius didn't remember Dumbledore asking him about Rose Potter, or that his repeated answer of "there is no Rose Potter" had led to Dumbledore changing his approach and asking about the child of Lily and James Potter. Sirius reply to that had been "My brother and his wife have no children," after which Dumbledore had departed in confusion. These blatantly untrue yet utterly sincere statements led the Headmaster to double-check all his own memories and do considerable research into what on earth Sirius could have meant when not chasing after rumours of Voldemort and musing over the prophecy, all of which distracted the aging man from learning of the existence of Sirius' daughter until her arrival at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry nearly ten years later.


	3. Chapter 3

Beta'd by the creative InsaneScriptist.

I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or anyone in it except Dorea, though my interpretation of the extended Black family is my own.

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><p><strong>Of relatives and surviving them<strong>

Four-year-old Dorry Black carefully smoothed the skirt of her robes as she stood hopefully behind her Great-Auntie Cassiopeia and Grandpa Arcturus in the wide, white corridor of Saint Mungo's Hospital where they were talking to a Healer. She didn't dare reach up to touch her hair, as Great-Auntie Cassiopeia had pulled her normally very curly hair into a very tight plait then pinned it around the top of her head like a crown. It was much more uncomfortable than her usual pigtails but Great-Auntie Cassiopeia had said she had to look smart for her father so Dorry wasn't complaining. She had enjoyed having Great-Auntie fuss over her hair and clothes rather than leave it to Moppet, her house-elf, like she usually did. Great-Auntie knew lots of pretty hair styles that Dorry was still learning to do for herself. She also liked her new black velvet dress robes with its dark red sash and her shiny black button boots. She was a little nervous, because she didn't remember Father, but she knew what he looked like from her photo albums and Grandpa had always told her that Father was innocent and should never have been sent to prison. Great-Auntie Callidora said it was a tray-vest-tea that it had taken the Ministry three years to consent to giving Father a proper trial and their being embarrassed by its results was entirely their own fault. They should have listened to the Family and given Father a trial sooner.

Dorry might have grown up without her father but that didn't mean she'd been lonely. She had her Great-Aunties, her Grandpa, her Grandad and her aunties and cousins. Her Great-Aunties were strict but that was because they were very old and most people didn't do things properly anymore. Dorry was learning about doing things properly, like what robes to wear on what occasions, good manners and so on, as well as how to behave when things didn't really need to be proper, like when she visited her Auntie Andy and Cousin Dora, who had started school in September so she wasn't there when Dorry visited Auntie Andy now. Auntie Andy had explained that proper behaviour was for visiting people who were not trusted family members, as propriety was a code that enabled people to get along even though they didn't like each-other much.

When visiting Aunt Cissa and Draco of course Dorry had to be _very_ proper even though they were family, but Dorry thought that was because Uncle Lucius had what Great-Auntie Cassiopeia called 'de-loo-shuns of grand-year'. She'd mentioned this to Grandpa once and he'd laughed loudly before agreeing and making her promise not to say so to Uncle Lucius or Aunt Cissa, as pointing that kind of thing out was rude. Dorry would never say such a thing to Aunt Cissa anyway: Aunt Cissa liked taking her out with Great-Auntie Cassiopeia and doing fun things like trying on pretty clothes, walking in parks or riding pegasi on the Black Estate. Aunt Cissa also gave her pretty dresses and jewellery on birthdays and at Christmas, so Dorry refused to be rude to her. Dorry thought Aunt Cissa would have liked to have a daughter, but unfortunately she only had Draco. Draco was fun to play with sometimes but he sulked when he lost, which was silly. Everybody lost sometimes and being a sore loser was unattractive. Great-Aunt Cedrella said so.

Dorry lived with Great-Aunt Cassiopeia during the week and spent weekends with Grandpa Arcturus, generally visiting both Great-Aunt Cedrella and Great-Aunt Callidora for an afternoon each during the week and seeing Draco or Dora at Grandpa's on a Saturday, though now Dora was at school she had stopped coming. Auntie Andy and Aunt Cissa didn't get along, so Dorry never saw them together and Draco hadn't got to meet Dora, which he was grumpy about because Dora could change how she looked and that was _cool_. It was also a family secret, so Draco had promised not to tell anyone. Before Dora had gone to Hogwarts Dora had visited Grandpa three times a week for meta-more-fey-goose lessons so she could control her gift properly and keep it secret. Grandpa had explained to Dorry and Dora that people might try to hurt Dora or the Family if they knew she had such a special gift, so it was important to keep it hidden. Dorry hoped Dora was okay at school and that she made friends who she could trust not to be mean to her because she was special. Dorry could change her hair colour and length, so she was a little bit special too. She'd showed this to Dora but not to Draco, because Draco told tales when he was jealous.

Dorry knew she had lots and lots of cousins, but she'd only met Draco and Dora. Great-Aunt Lucretia had no children so Dorry couldn't meet them. Great-Aunt Cedrella's children were all grown up and Gryffindors so while Dorry had heard lots of stories about their childhoods and about Great-Aunt Cedrella's grandchildren, Dorry wasn't sure she wanted to meet them. They sounded very loud and foolish to her. She'd mentioned this and Great-Aunt Cedrella had laughed and agreed that her children and grandchildren were all very loud and a bit foolish, but she'd married Great-Uncle Septimus because she liked that about him and their children took after him that way. Dorry thought she might like to meet one or two of Great-Aunt Cedrella's grandchildren, but definitely not all of them at once.

One cousin Dorry very much wanted to meet was her Great-Aunt Callidora's great-grandson Neville. He sounded very nice indeed. Dorry hadn't been allowed to meet him though because Neville's grandma had thought Dorry's father was a criminal and that Dorry might hurt Neville. Which was stupid because Neville was family, but Dorry would forgive it because Aunt Augusta just wanted Neville to be safe, like Great-Auntie Cassiopeia wanted Dorry to be safe.

Dory had never met her Great-Uncle Cygnus, which she was pleased about because it had been Great-Uncle Cygnus who had thrown Auntie Andy out of the family when she married Uncle Ted, but she had met her Grandad Pollux who was Grandpa Arcturus' cousin. Grandad was rather loud and sometimes very rude, but he knew lots of funny stories and liked playing games with her. Dorry thought he was lonely because two of his children were dead and the other one, Uncle Cygnus, didn't visit much. She'd mentioned this to Auntie Andy once, and at her next visit Grandad had told her about how Auntie Andy and Cousin Dora had visited him and how proud he was of Cousin Dora because of her special magic. He'd also said rude things about Uncle Ted, but Dorry had been proper and polite and ignored them. He'd never met Uncle Ted and didn't want to, so his opinions were moot. Or was it mute? She couldn't remember.

Dorry was starting to feel impatient though. She wanted to meet her father! After he'd been released after his trial Grandpa had taken him directly to Saint Mungo's, because being in prison was very unhealthy. He'd been in hospital for three whole weeks before Dorry had finally been given permission to visit and now she was there they were waiting outside the room! It was silly! She clasped her hands behind her back, looked down at her toes and tried not to fidget. All four of her Great-Aunties agreed that fidgeting was unladylike.

Great-Auntie Cassiopeia and Grandpa had promised her that if Father agreed Dorry would be allowed to meet other children her age and Dorry wanted that very much. She hadn't been allowed to before because Father hadn't given permission. Which wasn't anyone's fault really, because Father hadn't meant to get arrested or for the Ministry to not give him a trial right after Mother and Uncle James died. Grandpa had explained to Dorry that Father had only given him permission to introduce her to specific people and as Dorry's father that was his pre-row-cat-if. So even though Father had been away for three years rather than just two days, Grandpa would stick to the agreement. Keeping your word was very important, especially to Family.

"Dorea." Dorry looked up hopefully. None of her Great-Aunties ever called her 'Dorry' in public because nicknames were private. Great-Auntie Cassiopeia smiled at her. "Healer Goodwin says your father is well enough for you to visit him today. As your Grandfather and I have seen him already this week you may stay here until visiting hours are over, at which point we will come and collect you. Do not leave your father's room until we arrive, understood?"

"Yes, Great-Aunt Cassiopeia; thank-you Great-Aunt Cassiopeia," Dorry said with a little bob of the head before turning to the Healer and smiling at him prettily. "Thank-you very much for looking after my father, Healer Goodwin."

The healer looked startled then smiled back. "You're very welcome Miss Black," he replied, glancing at Grandpa before reaching over to open the door. "Go ahead and go in."

Quickly glancing up at Great-Aunt Cassiopeia to make sure it was proper, Dorea then walked briskly through the open door into the private room where her father was waiting for her.

* * *

><p>Sirius had been desperate to see his little Dorry-Rose from the moment his grandfather had led him out of the courtroom, but the old man had insisted he go to Saint Mungo's and be looked over by a proper Mind-Healer as well as be treated for long-term Dementor exposure first. The canny Lord Black had pointed out that his mind would be all over the place as he recovered and he didn't want to distress his daughter, did he? Sirius had growled and muttered nastily but he'd gone along with it all without a fight. It was for Dorry after all. Grandfather had visited him most days during the past weeks to tell him stories of his daughter's various adventures and doings, some of which were truly hilarious like her innocent observation on Lucius Malfoy's overly pretentious behaviour. Sirius was also in awe of his daughter's natural charm: how had she managed to reconcile Andromeda with crotchety old Grandfather Pollux, who was so vocal in his pureblood bigotry? True, Dorry sounded a bit prim for a four-year-old, but she'd been raised by Great-Aunt Cassie so that was rather to be expected. That she was as vivacious as she was stood testament to how much all the old ladies adored her.<p>

Great-Aunt Cassie had visited him at weekends and shared more domestic tales, such as Dorry's childish difficulties with various words, her attempts at dressing herself and determination to learn as many hair styles as possible. Sirius had been amazed to see the faint yet fond smile on the elderly lady's lined face as she recounted various mishaps involving semi-deliberate wandless magic, his daughter's slight metamorph talent, her brilliance in her studies and love of reading. She also had a keen understanding of quite how far she could push each specific relative, Cassiopeia had revealed with a wry twinkle in her eye as she recounted the Custard Incident that had so amused Septimus Weasley the day she'd first been permitted to stay over with Great-Aunt Cedrella for dinner. Apparently Sirius had a supporter in the elderly Weasely, as he had encouraged Dorry that wanting to be a Slytherin didn't mean she couldn't have fun. Sirius was resigned to his darling girl being in Slytherin –he'd left Dorry in the care of proud, brilliant Slytherins during her tender impressionable years after all and Lily had possessed a thick streak of cunning– but knowing that the pranking tradition would continue regardless was a great relief. He deeply regretted not being there for all the milestones, triumphs and disasters Great-Aunt Cassie had recounted, but at least he wouldn't be missing any more of them.

Then the door opened and jolted him out of his musing as a slender, impeccably-dressed little girl darted through it, coming to a stop at his bedside with her spine straight and hands clasped in front of her. Sirius blinked at the old-fashioned button boots and rather adorably dated velvet dress with its red sash, which was in itself an unexpected concession to his daughter's Gryffindor heritage. The midnight hair neatly pulled back to a braided crown only added to the charmingly childish picture being presented to him. Then he looked into a fair-skinned, fine-boned face still rounded with baby fat and fell in love with his daughter all over again.

She had Lily's eyes, identical in shape and very similar in shade, being an even more vivid and luminous green uncannily reminiscent of the colour of the Killing Curse. Her facial bones were almost entirely from Sirius' side of the family, barely blunted at all, but her skin had a hint of the golden undertone that James's had and there was something of James about her nose and ears as well. The long-fingered hands clasped in front of her were also Lily's, graceful and controlled for incredible precision in casting spells, and the sense of contained energy roiling around her was something both James and Lily had possessed, though James had been far less controlled. The inky hair and its hinted wild curls were from her Black heritage though, as was her hidden metamorphagus talent.

What made Sirius smile though was the sheer emotion that shone in those vibrantly green eyes: hope, curiosity, frustration and childishly unconditional love. His baby girl didn't remember him but she still loved him. Smiling widely in an attempt to hide the tears welling up Sirius opened his arms to his daughter:

"Come here Dorry-Rose so I can hug you."

His daughter's smile was radiant as she bounced forward and threw herself onto the bed, mussing her dress as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest.

"Papa?" it was an achingly soft and uncertain whisper. Sirius felt his heart clench in his chest and a tear escape.

"Papa's here, baby girl. I've missed you so much," he whispered, clutching her to his chest. As he felt her body shaking and wetness seeping into the front of his hospital gown to the sound of soft, hiccupping sobs Sirius quietly cursed his own reckless foolishness and swore to never again put himself in a situation that would separate him from his daughter like this. Not even if it meant spending every day with old-fashioned and stuffy-minded relatives, putting up with Grandfather Pollux's blatantly bigoted after-dinner lectures and Narcissa's overt disdain. For Dorry he would keep his temper in check even if it meant drinking calming draughts and Caution Concoction twice daily.

Though hopefully Grandfather Arcturus had plans for Sirius to be able to live independently with his daughter. He could survive seeing relatives every single day of the week so long as he had somewhere to call his own he could retreat to if necessary. He was sure Grandfather understood, as every single one of the Blacks had their own home, though some shared with their spouses. Arcturus _had_ mentioned in passing that Uncle Alphard's old house was still vacant and well cared-for, which might have been a clue. He'd also mentioned that Sirius' mother Walberga had gone completely senile and was unlikely to live another year, which suggested that once it finally happened Arcturus planned to have that house thoroughly cleaned out and refurbished as was his right as Lord Black. Sirius didn't care _what_ Grandfather did to the place so long as he never had to see Kreacher ever again. He didn't mind house-elves as a rule and had always rather liked the Potter elves but he could not stomach the idea of his mother's little sycophant being in the same house as his precious daughter. He'd sooner kill the thing and be done with it. Which wasn't very kind of him, but Sirius just could not separate the little beast from his mother's cruel and unreasonable punishments. Maybe in a decade or two he'd be able to think rationally about the situation and forgive the elf his obedient complicity but not yet.

He could think about that later though; much more important right now was getting to know the person his daughter had become.

* * *

><p>Remus Lupin sat in his modest, outwardly-dilapidated cottage less than a mile from the village of Yearsley in north Yorkshire –hidden by numerous Muggle-repelling charms of course– and stared at the newspaper strewn across his kitchen table. There were ten articles from the past three weeks, all cut from the <em>Daily Prophet<em>, and the picture they created filled him with bitter regret and profound confusion.

Sirius had been innocent. He hadn't betrayed James and Lily at all; that had been Peter, who apparently wasn't dead at all and still at large, probably as a nineteen-toed rat. The articles covered everything from Sirius' trial –in which his grandfather Arcturus had been his legal consul and thoroughly tied the prosecution in knots until they hadn't a leg to stand on– to his current sojourn in Saint Mungo's, complete with details of his various visitors: from Professor McGonagall to the Minister of Magic, who never actually got in and was escorted out 'so as to prevent distress to the patient'. Bagnold's political capital was waning fast, had been ever since the War ended, and now Remus could see that the Black family had a significant role in helping her on her way. There had been occasional articles in the Prophet ever since the January after Voldemort's defeat about how the Lord Black was seeking a public trial for his grandson and heir, but it had taken nearly three years for Sirius to get one, years in which Bagnold had steadily lost the support of the Wizengamot and the Neutrals. She'd finally agreed to the trial as a publicity stunt, stating that 'there would be no doubt concerning Black's guilt' but she had a lot of political egg on her face now and her supporters were thinner on the ground than ever. There was even talk of an inquiry into all the arrests made following the end of the war, with Veritaserum interrogations and investigations into actual crimes committed by the accused individuals.

Remus felt awful knowing that one of his best friends had spent three years in prison for a crime he was not only innocent of but had been committed by Peter. Peter, who always tried so hard to be brave but was, thinking back, inclined to fold if he was in genuine personal peril. Remus wanted to hate Peter for that cowardice, but bitterly recognised that he was just as much of a coward sometimes, if for different reasons. As a werewolf he'd never had friends before Hogwarts, so he tended to silence his conscience rather than risk antagonising them. He was weak-willed and he knew it, knew that he let people who treated him well take advantage of him. Dumbledore had asked all manner of things of him during the War that he would have preferred not to do –including distance himself from his friends, for their safety of course– and he had done them because if not for Dumbledore he could never have attended Hogwarts, which was far superior to the Trade Schools he would never have dared to attend for fear of being found out or the private tutoring he had expected his father to give him. His parents had loved him dearly but they hadn't been wealthy and paying for tutors and examiners in addition to schoolbooks would have been far too great a strain on the Lupin family budget.

It was the other articles that bothered him the most though, the ones with titles like '_Girl Who Lived a Myth!_' or '_No Evidence of Rose Potter in Ministry Archives_'. Remus had seen –and smelled– Lily's pregnancy, held the green-eyed baby and had food thrown at him by the curly-headed toddler when she was older; Rose Potter _had_ existed but the way she'd vanished into the ether was highly suspicious. That Sirius had insisted –under Veritaserum! – that James had no children told Remus that something was afoot, some plot he'd not been privy to during those last years of the War. James and Sirius had always been the schemers and their joint efforts had always been of the 'so outrageous I can't believe it worked' variety; James had doted openly on his 'darling little Rose' so Remus had to be missing something pretty major for Sirius to be telling the truth.

Sighing, the werewolf reached out to pull the more recent articles towards him, the ones blaring the outrage of how the Potters' Wills had been sealed by the Supreme Mugwump after their deaths. Dumbledore had been quoted as saying that the wills being sealed had been for the protection of Rose Potter and now it had been 'proven' that no such child existed the press –and the public– were out for blood. Dumbledore's past decisions were all being scrutinised and people were being quoted raising concerns about his integrity and mental acuity. One quote by Cassiopeia Black concerning Dumbledore's reluctance to join the fight against Grindelwald until the final month of _that_ war had prompted a whole lot of muck-raking by the ever-opportunistic Rita Skeeter, who had followed up with an article about Dumbledore being an opportunistic glory-hound who preferred not to get his hands dirty but still take credit for everything.

The mess concerning his friends' Wills was what had led him to be sat here contemplating his situation: he had received an invitation from Gringotts for the reading of the Will of Lily Potter. As James had died before Lily and his Will had stated simply that in such a situation she would be left everything as Lady Potter, his Will did not require a public reading. However Lily's Will involved a lot of other people, who all had the right to be at the reading or send proxies on their behalf. Remus had clearly been bequeathed something, so he had to show up. He was dreading it: what if Sirius was there? What would he say? Worse, what if Sirius _wasn't_ there and one of his Black relatives –it was rather scary how all those elderly yet still terrifying witches and wizards had crawled out of the woodwork following the trial– showed up as his proxy? Or even Lord Black himself? Remus couldn't fool himself that they'd be pleased to meet a school friend of the heir to their House, especially not when that school friend had vanished from Wizarding society completely following the War; worse still if it came out that he was a werewolf, which was perfectly possible.

Staring at the letter, Remus swallowed hard and resolved to attend. Lily had left him something and to not accept it would be an insult to her memory. If he did get ripped into by anyone over his not visiting Sirius in hospital he would take it as punishment for his own cowardice: he certainly deserved it.


	4. Chapter 4

Beta'd by the delightful InsaneScriptist.

If I owned Harry Potter I wouldn't be writing on this site.

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><p><strong>Of friendship and misinformation<strong>

The first friend that Dorry was allowed to make was Neville Longbottom: Father had been friends with his parents during the War. Father had informed her seriously that Neville's parents had been badly hurt right after Mother died, so badly hurt that they couldn't look after Neville anymore. So Aunt Augusta was taking care of Neville like Great-Auntie Cassiopeia did Dorry herself and now that Father had been ex-honour-hated by the Ministry Aunt Augusta had agreed that Dorry, Father and Great-Aunt Callidora could come and visit Longbottom Hall.

As it was nearly Christmas Dorry had picked out a present for Neville based on Great-Aunt Callidora's stories about her great-great-nephew and was keen to meet someone her own age who wasn't Draco. Hopefully Neville wouldn't mind being her friend and would like the little dittany plant Grubby the gardener house-elf had transplanted from the greenhouse at Black Manor. Grubby was only allowed to tend to the more innocuous plants, but there weren't many dangerous ones in the Black Manor greenhouses now because Grandpa didn't do much brewing. Dorry had asked why and Grandpa had told her that it had been something his wife had enjoyed, but she was dead now and it wasn't as interesting without her. Dorry had found that sad and had asked Grandpa if he would teach her about potions. He had promised to consider it and discuss it with Father, so Dorry was hopeful. Great-Auntie Cassiopeia had promised to start teaching her history in the spring and Great-Auntie Lucretia was going to teach her about art, music and languages, all of which sounded very interesting. Father wasn't going to be teaching her anything in the schoolroom as he felt that he wasn't really suited, but he _had_ promised to take her on weekly outings to the Muggle world so she could learn about how people managed without magic.

Stepping through the Floo and taking care not to let go of Father's hand until she was steady on her feet, Dorry took a moment to gaze at her surroundings before sneaking glances at her hosts. Aunt Augusta was tall and lean, the elderly thinning out to bones and skin that seemed to happen to old people, unless they went the other way and became pudgy. Dorry liked that word, pudgy. It described Grandad very well, as did the word 'flabby'. Aunt Augusta didn't look frail like Great-Auntie Cedrella did; instead she looked concentrated and very proper indeed in her old-fashioned green robes and austere hairstyle. Dorry liked the word 'austere' too. It had been in a book Auntie Lucretia had read to her.

Standing next to Aunt Augusta was a short, round-faced and very nervous-looking boy with fluffy blond hair and an air of general hopelessness. His shoulders were slightly hunched in his smart red jacket and tan shorts and both his knees were scuffed. On catching her eye he seemed to sink even further into himself, a bit like a tortoise she'd seen at the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley. Dorry would have frowned, but that would have been rude. She wasn't scary or mean, so why was he acting like that?

"Papa?" she asked. It wasn't _quite_ proper, but Sirius had explained that the rules of propriety were slightly relaxed in this case as it was a private gathering and small children had a certain amount of freedom anyway. He'd advised her to enjoy it while it lasted, so she was trying to.

"Yes, Dorry-dear?" Father said, glancing down at her with a smile.

"May I give Cousin Neville his Christmas present?"

"C-c-cousin?" Neville stuttered. Dorry's heart immediately went out to the poor boy: she'd had an awful stutter when she was three but Great-Auntie Cassiopeia had coached her past it so now she was stutter free.

"Yes: I'm Dorea Black and you are my fourth cousin on my father's side," Dorry said brightly. "You are the third cousin I've met who isn't an adult and you are already my second favourite." Because Neville could not possibly be more of a trial than Draco.

"Oh." The round-faced boy looked rather baffled, but he did straighten up a bit.

"Can I give him his present, please?" Dorry repeated.

Her father smiled, that fond and slightly naughty smile that Great-Auntie Cassiopeia scolded him for saying he was being over-indulgent. "Of course you can princess."

Dorry smiled brightly at Neville, who looked vaguely alarmed. "I asked your Great-Grandma Callidora what you liked, since she knows you," she explained, "and she said you liked plants so I got you this!" She held out the tall, glittery paper bag containing the potted dittany. Neville glanced up at Aunt Augusta, then cautiously stepped forwards and accepted the bag. His face brightened as he looked inside it, then reached in to pull out the plant pot with its hopeful little shoots.

"Dittany," he said quietly, a tiny smile on his lips. "Thank-you Cousin Dorea."

Dorry beamed. This was going to be a wonderful friendship!

* * *

><p>Sirius couldn't help the wide grin splitting his face as his daughter managed to coax Frank and Alice's boy into taking her arm and taking her to where he was going to put her present. Great-Aunt Callidora looked quietly amused as well and Madam Longbottom had a look on her face that suggested Dorry was not at all what she had been expecting. As if she had heard his thoughts, Augusta Longbottom turned away from where Neville and Dorry had vanished around the corner towards where Sirius remembered the Conservatory being and addressed him:<p>

"I have to admit that when I invited you over I expected your daughter to be much like Frank described you as being at school," she eyed him with slight disapproval, "and find myself agreeably surprised. Dorea is quite charming and mannerly."

Sirius chuckled nervously. He'd been a little hellion in his first few years at Hogwarts. "It's not like I've been raising her, Augusta: I only got out of Azkaban six weeks ago."

"That dreadful business," Augusta shook her head. "Do come into the parlour and I'll have Tilly make tea so we can be comfortable while the children are busy."

Sirius gamely followed; he felt far too young and brash to be taking tea with two such grey and wrinkly ladies as Madame Longbottom and Great-Aunt Callidora but Azkaban had not been good for him and his joints still hadn't quite recovered enough for him to be comfortable standing up for long periods of time.

To be honest, the trial hadn't gone how Sirius had expected it to either. Grandfather Arcturus had spoken on his behalf during it and somehow between the questions the cunning Lord Black had put to him and the clarifications requested by the vaguely familiar wizard leading the prosecution Sirius had accidentally managed to convince the Wizengamot that that there had not been a child present at the cottage at all when Voldemort murdered the Potters. Sirius wasn't entirely sure _how_ he'd done that, but the newspapers were _still_ screaming about how the public had been lied to and that 'The Girl Who Lived' was a myth. Dumbledore had been put on the spot a lot about that, as he'd been the one to state that Rose Potter had been present and survived the Killing Curse and Sirius couldn't really say he cared. He was pleased that his best friends had finally been given the credit they deserved, Lily especially as she'd devised the runic Blood Ward that had finished off Voldemort. Blood Magic was legally considered Dark, but Grandfather had played the public like a violin in describing Lily's research into it 'an act of desperation doubtless prompted by the urge to curb the terrible losses being suffered by our society' and 'a fine example of why our traditions should not be allowed to fade away'. Sirius had already been approached by an Unspeakable who had politely requested access to Lily's notes. Arcturus had dealt with that for him, but Sirius knew that now it was known that it _was_ possible to deflect the Killing Curse with a magical shield a lot of people would be working on ways of achieving it. Some of them might even get somewhere. It would be difficult but, as Lily had proved, not impossible.

Sirius was also grateful that he's managed to completely avoid mentioning his daughter during the trial, which was most definitely the result of Grandfather finessing things. The old man was extremely protective of Dorry and the green-eyed girl had him wrapped around her little finger. Great-Aunt Cassie could complain all she wanted that Sirius was spoiling his daughter but Sirius was of the opinion that Arcturus was the main culprit there!

* * *

><p>Neville didn't know quite what to think of his cousin Dorea, who didn't trip over her feet at all, walked as straight-backed as his grandmother was always telling him to and was quite terrifyingly sure of herself. He'd initially been very nervous but she'd smiled at him, didn't seem to mind his stutter at all and had brought him a Christmas present. Neville had no idea what he was supposed to give her in return but Christmas was still a few days away and Great-Grandmother would probably be able to tell him what Dorea would like. What did girls like anyway?<p>

Dorea was actually the first person his age Neville had ever met and he thought she was rather nice. She'd admired his plants in the conservatory, been very interested in all the portraits of his ancestors even though some of them had been a bit rude to her and didn't snap at him to 'speak clearly' when he stammered. He'd been amazed to hear that she had used to stutter too, and had listened avidly when Dorea told him firmly that when he felt a stammer coming on he was to pause, take a breath, think about what he wanted to say then say it. Carefully. Hurrying would only make things worse. Neville nodded seriously and resolved to try; clearly his problem could be overcome!

After showing her around the whole house from the attics to the kitchen Neville led his new friend back to his day nursery, where they played with his wooden menagerie until Tilly came upstairs to summon them to dinner. Neville was very grateful that Great-Uncle Algie wasn't there, as he always made Neville feel nervous as he was rather mean and scary. Great-Grandmother was always kind to him and even though he'd heard some rather scary things about Dorea's father Sirius Black –had he really been in Azkaban? – Grandmother had told him that his and Dorea's fathers had been in Gryffindor together and been friends, so hopefully he and Dorea could be friends when they went to Hogwarts too. Provided he wasn't a squib like he'd heard Great-Uncle Algie muttering once. He wasn't sure if Dorea would still be his friend if he was a squib.

Then he had to sit up for tea and cake and Neville had to put the matter out of his mind in order to concentrate on not spilling anything down his jacket. He didn't want Dorea to laugh at him.

Neville was also rather curious about the other cousins she had mentioned and if he had any more relatives in common with Dorea that neither of them had met yet. Maybe he could ask Great-Grandmother about them next time she visited?

* * *

><p>One morning in mid-February Dorry sat thoughtfully at the breakfast table, scowling pensively at her porridge as she pondered the problem of Neville. She did like him: he wasn't mean, played her games and didn't mind when she beat him at exploding snap. But he always seemed so <em>surprised<em> whenever she came through the Floo, like he hadn't been expecting her to some back. She'd finally asked him why and learned a new word, one which didn't quite match up to the definition she had found in Samuel Johnson's _A Dictionary of the English Language_, which was one of the few Muggle reference books Great-Auntie Cassiopeia kept in the house; Neville wasn't an author of any kind, let alone of rude things about other people. He was far too nice for that. Which meant she had to ask Great-Auntie Cassiopeia or Papa about it, and either would want to know where she'd heard the word.

Dorry was sure it wasn't a bad word, not like the one she'd heard in Diagon Alley when the shop assistant at Slug and Jiggers had dropped a stack of cauldrons on his foot. She'd got in trouble for repeating that one.

Papa was away a lot during the week now as he was responsible for looking after Uncle James' inheritance and making sure everything was in order, even though Uncle Remus was doing most of the book-work. Dorry had met the Potter house-elves at the New Year for just long enough to reassure them of her commitment to them and since then Papa had been busy making sure all the houses were habitable, having the damaged ones mended and chasing down people who'd thought that because Uncle James was dead they didn't have to pay their debts. Dorry missed having Papa around the house all the time but she guessed he'd been bored, even with Uncle Remus coming round most days to talk to him. He was always home on Saturdays though, as Saturday was when he'd take Dorry out and about in Muggle London, to walk in Hyde Park, visit the Museums, go to the cinema, see a matinee performance at the theatre or the ballet or just wander around the streets enjoying the incredible variety of goings-on, sometimes with Uncle Remus as well. Saturday was Dorry's favourite day of the week now!

Sunday mornings were for being quiet and Sunday afternoons were when Dorry either visited Neville or went to Grandpa's and saw Draco. Weekdays were spent at home with Great-Auntie Cassiopeia in Papa's house in Hampstead or visiting other Great-Aunties, but that would change soon as in March she would be starting her lessons. Dorry was looking forward to it as she likes learning new things.

"Dorry, stop playing with your porridge." Dorry started, glanced down at her bowl than up at her Great-Auntie.

"Sorry, Great-Auntie Cassiopeia," she said meekly before spooning more of her breakfast into her mouth. She hadn't meant to be naughty and she was hungry really, but all her thoughts had distracted her. Soon the porridge was all gone and nothing remained but the persistent nagging question in the four-year-old's mind.

"Great-Auntie?"

"Yes Dorry?"

"What's a squib?"

Great-Auntie Cassiopeia put down her teacup and frowned at her over her spectacles. "Where did you hear that word, Dorea?"

"Neville told me it," Dorry said quickly. "He said he thought I wouldn't be his friend anymore when I found out he was one. I told him I'd always be his friend so long as he wasn't mean to me but I don't think he believed me." she paused. "I looked it up in the Johnson's but I think Neville meant something different as Johnson's says a squib is someone who writes things that make fun of people."

Great-Auntie Cassiopeia sighed. "Johnson's is a Muggle dictionary and therefore limited, Dorry-dear. In Wizarding terms a squib is someone who is aware of magic but can't use it. So they can see through Muggle-repelling Charms and such-like, but cannot wield magic as you and I can."

"So Neville thinks I won't be his friend because he can't use magic?" Dorry clarified.

"Yes, though young Neville may not be a squib at all: it is impossible to tell before your eleventh birthday."

"Might I be a squib?"

Great-Auntie Cassiopeia laughed. "Goodness me no, child! You've been doing magic since you were in your cradle! Your little reading lights and the way you change your hair are proof enough that you'll be a powerful witch when you're grown, providing you work hard."

"Oh." Dorry considered this. "If Neville is a squib he won't be allowed to go to Hogwarts, will he?"

"No dear, he won't."

Dorry pondered the difficulty of staying friends with someone if you were at boarding school for most of the year and they weren't. She hadn't seen Cousin Dora since Christmas, and that had only been for three days. Dora was all excited about her studies and new friends and didn't have much time for her 'baby cousins' anymore.

"Is it bad, being a squib?"

Great-Auntie Cassiopeia frowned. "All pureblood families consider squibs to be an embarrassment and they are banned from inheriting, though any magical descendents of theirs are not so long as lineage is proven. In the past some families killed squibs, but the Blacks never did: squibs can find gainful employment in Muggle society and still be useful to the Family. They are not talked about in polite company though."

Dorry tried to get her head around how she could have relatives who weren't strictly proper Family. Being a squib seemed to be like being in prison, as Aunt Bellatrix wasn't talked about openly either.

"Dorry-dear?" The four-year-old looked up at her Great-Auntie, who seemed distracted.

"Yes, Great-Auntie?"

"Be a good girl and play in the day nursery: I'll take you out for a walk on the Heath once I've written some letters."

Dorry slipped off her chair with a, "yes, Great-Auntie" and dashed out of the room. She really liked walking on Hampstead Heath, even when it was cold, but Great-Auntie didn't take her out very often. She would be able to wear her smart dark green coat and red scarf!

* * *

><p>Cassiopeia Black did not talk about her younger brother Marius much, but that did not mean she did not think of him. He had been revealed to be a squib shortly after she had turned fourteen and while not exactly cast from the family, neither her siblings nor her parents had ever mentioned him again in public. Her mother had never mentioned him in private either, considering Marius' very existence to be a blot on her reputation. Her father had been more pragmatic about the whole thing; upon braving his private study to ask after her younger sibling Cassiopeia had been dryly informed that her brother was now apprenticed to a Muggle lawyer, who was under the impression that Marius was the son of his late business partner. She had eventually attended Marius' wedding alongside her father in 1938, mere months before the beginning of Grindelwald's war. Marius had been packed off to war himself less than a year after the birth of his son, covered with all the Wards and Charms his father Cygnus Aries Black could muster without outright breaking the Statute of Secrecy.<p>

Cassiopeia sighed heavily; her father had never come home, dying on the battlefields of Eastern Europe against Grindelwald's forces while the war was at its height. She held no love for Albus Dumbledore, who had cowered in Hogwarts until the war was almost at an end then sallied forth to do battle with Grindelwald, securing a name for himself as the man who had defeated the most feared Dark Lord of his time without having done any of the leg-work. Her father had been a patriot, something her elder brother Pollux had somehow debased into pureblood supremacy rather than noblesse oblige. There was a distinct difference between the two, even though of Pollux' children only the short-lived Alphard had managed to discern it.

Marius however had inherited that noble spirit, and after returning from the war magically unscathed he had sired another three children and thrown himself into his work, expanding the legal partnership their father had bought him shares in and dedicating a certain portion of his time to charity cases. His children had all been squibs as well, but Cassiopeia had hope in her brother's grandchildren, her great-nieces and nephews. Eduard, the eldest, had married a French witch and their eldest Martin was, according to her dear friend Thérèse Trianon, attending Beaubatons. Their younger daughter Morgane was not quite old enough for school yet but Cassiopeia was hopeful.

Marius' elder daughter Ophelia had married a Woodmore, likely a squib himself considering the Woodmores were a minor Wizard family. Their eldest Donald was sadly unmagical, but Cassiopeia suspected the next son Desmond would be receiving a letter from Hogwarts in the coming summer. As might Marius' second daughter Drusilla's firstborn Richard, as Cassiopeia had witnessed how the lid of the biscuit tin had removed itself when a certain three-year-old had been glaring at it. As for Marius' youngest son Leander's offspring, Cassiopeia had not had the opportunity of meeting them as they did not live in the London area. Leander had married a Welsh girl and lived with her and their three children in Wrexham.

With all this in mind Cassiopeia wrote a letter to her dear brother informing him that she and her great-niece Dorea would be visiting him on the morning of the day after tomorrow for elevensies, with a view to him tutoring the family heiress in mathematics. Marius had a head for numbers that was almost entirely absent elsewhere in the wider Black Family, Arcturus being the only other one so gifted. Sirius managed, given time, but he had already bowed out of teaching his daughter anything so essential to her upbringing. Hopefully Marius would agree, as Arcturus was not as young as he had once been and was beginning to tire easily.

Sealing the letter with her personal variation of the Black Crest, Cassiopeia handed the letter of to a house-elf and ordered it to put the missive through the door of her brother's home in Acton. He had retired from practicing Law some years ago, leaving the business in the hands of his younger daughter's husband, so he would doubtless receive the missive by luncheon and be prepared for her arrival in good time.

She did not at any point consider that her imposition would be unwelcome; Cassiopeia Violetta Black _never_ considered such things.

* * *

><p>Of all the ways for his condition to be revealed to Sirius' family, Remus had <em>not<em> expected to be pegged as a werewolf by his friend's great-aunt from the moment he walked into the room at the Department of Testament and Estate Law where Lily's will would be read. The department was located in a separate building to the rest of the Ministry, alongside the Department of Magical Births, Deaths and Marriages and the Central Archives. The wizards who worked in those areas swore certain very binding oaths and were not under the authority of either the Minister or the Wizengamot, swearing only 'to Truth, Accuracy and Confidentiality'. Breaking those oaths had only happened a few times in all of the Departments' long history, but in each case death had been swift and dramatically messy.

He'd tried to come early, so he could sit down in a corner and not draw attention, but there had already been three older women in the room. Minerva McGonagall had recognised him immediately and wanted to know what he'd been up to since she'd last seen him, then introduced him to Augusta Longbottom, who was here on behalf of her daughter Alice and grandson Neville, both of whom had been named in the will. Remus had expressed his condolences over the fate of her son and daughter-in-law, which she had taken with calm aplomb: Augusta Longbottom was do doubt used to people saying such things to her. The other woman present had been Cassiopeia Black, who had not stated on whose behalf she was attending but had scrutinised him intensely for a very uncomfortable half-minute before requesting that Madam Longbottom introduce her to him.

By the time the lawyer in charge of Lily's will arrived to close the room Elphias Doge, Horace Slughorn, Severus Snape, a representative of St Mungo's hospital and Lord Black himself had entered and seated themselves, making it rather uncomfortable company for Remus. The lawyer, one Hercules Brand, checked everyone's invitations to ascertain they had the right to be present then sealed the doors, walked briskly up to the dais at the front of the room and placed his paperwork on the lectern. Then he had read the will aloud, pausing after each bequest so that the party could accept or refuse and sign the appropriate paperwork to that effect so that the transferral could be processed. It had been somewhat surreal really, as the part of the will read aloud had begun with the words,

"Should my husband James Charlus Potter predecease me, I, Lily Potter née Evans and Lady of the House of Potter by right of marriage and magic, do bequeath the entirety of the Potter Estate, Artefacts, Monies and Holdings to Dorea Rosamund Black, who holds the right to inherit by blood and magic, with the exception of the following…"

Remus had lost track slightly there, reeling at the knowledge that James had actual surviving blood relatives. Who, admittedly, had the Black surname, but that might have been through marriage. It was still something that sent him reeling and picking over the past in his mind, trying to put the puzzle together. He tuned back in at the sound of his name:

"–Remus Lupin, a dear friend, I leave unconditional access to the holiday cottage in Mynydd Du and permission to wander the forest as he pleases: you do so enjoy your woodland strolls that I felt you would appreciate the freedom to do so in the oldest Potter-owned forest in Britain. Do watch out though: the Welsh Green Dragon Reserve is just up the valley!"

Chuckling at Lily's delicate wording, Remus had gone to the front of the room to sign the papers. He had not actually been _given_ the property –it was a Potter property– but so long as he lived he could not be denied residence or access to the surrounding land. Which was rather sneaky: even if more stringent anti-werewolf laws were passed he would still be permitted to reside there. It was also exponentially more remote than his current abode, making it far less likely that he would stumble across some lost Muggle on full moon nights, even with the repelling wards in place and locking himself in the basement.

Upon sitting down again, Remus listened to the rest of the bequests. He had missed Snape's and Sirius's, which was unfortunate, but the following ones were no less interesting and Lily's vivaciousness, kindness and humour shone through each of them.

"To Alice Longbottom I leave my husband's racing broom–" James had never let Alice so much as _touch_ his precious Cleansweep Seven, claiming that he didn't want it to get damaged. This wasn't because Alice was in any way incompetent on a broom –she was in fact a confident and gifted Quiddictch player– but because her favoured position on the pitch was that of the Beater and when she and James had been on the Gryffindor team together she had frequently skimmed his head with a Bludger when he was being obnoxious. She had mostly done it during practice, but had made exceptions during actual matches from time to time.

"To Neville Longbottom, at my husband's insistence, I leave eight hundred Galleons, to be dispensed to him in twenty Galleon sums each and every birthday and Christmas until the funds run dry and spent on whatever item, pursuit or cause dearest to his heart at the time of the dispensation with a moderate disregard for parental concern. This is a compromise, Alice, so be grateful I was able to wear James down. Examples would be Zonko's products, Quidditch tickets, clothing of the sort Augusta would never approve of or whatever else catches his fancy, be it magical or Muggle. Stewardship of this account goes to Sirius Black, but I expect Remus to keep him in line for me."

Remus had to work very hard not to laugh at the outraged expression on Madame Longbottom's face as Lord Black rose to sign for the bequest on Sirius' behalf, though he suspected he would be hearing from her in the very near future about that account as despite stewardship being officially Padfoot's, _actual_ power had been left to him.

"To Minerva McGonagall, I leave the photo album titled 'Marauders Mishaps in Domesticity' for your perusal and enjoyment." Lily had always had a bit of a vengeful streak despite not being interested in pranks, which she considered bullying. Guilt, coercion and modest blackmail however had been another story; Remus wondered how many of those pictures he featured in. That business with the mashed potatoes had been a total fiasco, for one...

"To Horace Slughorn, I leave the Enchanted goldfish bowl I spent two weeks making while bored, pregnant and under virtual house arrest. It has the Runic version of the Petal-Fish Charm I cast on my farewell gift to you inscribed in its base, so this one will last in perpetuity. I experimented with different flower petals and categorised seventy-three different fish variants before James protested, so I wish you many hours of enjoyment and my heartfelt gratitude for your kindness." The old Potions Master was almost in tears as he signed the form; Lily had always had a soft spot for Slughorn despite knowing very well why he favoured certain students over others, which she had occasionally used for her own ends.

"To Elphias Doge, for your kindness I leave you the puzzle-boxes you so admired." The puzzle-boxes had been Lily's way of staving off boredom: James had bought the Muggle toys for her at every possible opportunity, stockpiling them whenever he could find them and doling them out when she started displaying the signs of feeling their semi-fugitive status more acutely. Lily would take them apart, put them back together again, take them apart again then charm the pieces so that errors in the opening process would have humorous, peculiar or downright nasty effects upon the person attempting to get into it. One box had a repertoire of over three-hundred insults which it doled out depending on the mistake made, one insult for every possible incorrect permutation in the opening sequence. Lily had kept sweets in most of the boxes, but the genuinely unpleasant ones –made in the aftermath of the deaths of people she had been close to– were always empty and clearly labelled to prevent accidents.

Lily had also left twelve hundred Galleons to St Mungo's hospital, to be spent equally on pioneering new cures and supplying medical potions to wizards too poor to be able to afford them. After the hospital representative signed for the donation the will was declared complete and Hercules Brand informed them that the documents would be handed over to Gringotts for processing, so they would likely receive confirmation from the bank at some point in the coming week. Then he gathered his paperwork, opened the room and departed, leaving everyone else to follow in his wake. Remus would have made himself scarce, but Madam Black caught his arm in a startlingly strong grip, informed him that her great-nephew wished to speak to him and all but dragged him out of the building and down the road to St Mungo's, deaf to any protestations. She had marched him all the way to Sirius' private room in the wing of the Creature-Induced Injuries ward dedicated to Dementor damage and other proximity effects, intimidated the nurse on duty into letting them into the room than locked and Warded the door behind her before releasing him and addressing Sirius:

"I've brought your friend, since it was clear he wouldn't be bringing himself; I would have however appreciated being told he was a werewolf _before_ you asked me to find him for you, Sirius Orion."

Remus knees had given way at this bald statement and he'd barely made it to a chair before his knees gave way. She knew! _How_?

"Great-Auntie Cassie?" Sirius had managed after a few moments of gaping like a fish. "How–?"

"–did I know?" the elderly lady finished the sentence, raising an eyebrow. "I fought on the front lines of the Grindelwald War for six years, young man: I've met a great many werewolves. Some of them were even on our side." Her expression softened. "Jean-Pierre Lavarre was a most charming scoundrel regardless of his affliction and an excellent fighter in a tight spot. We were battle partners for nearly four years and had he not died when he did I would have been greatly tempted to give in to his shamelessly frequent proposals of marriage."

Remus had felt his jaw drop at that pronouncement; Sirius had looked equally stunned. Finding out that a cool, stern and highly traditional lady of the Black family had almost married a werewolf was rather like discovering that yes; your parents _did_ still have sex despite being old and rather grey. Your mind was never quite the same afterwards.

That Madam Black was cackling at their abject horror did not help.


	5. Chapter 5

Beta'd by the engaging InsaneScriptist.

I own nothing, I'm just playing in Rowling's sandbox.

* * *

><p><strong>Of death and conspiracy<strong>

It was mid-morning on a Wednesday in mid-May when Arcturus Black's routine was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of a shrivelled, ill-kempt house-elf with a hooked nose wearing nothing but a filthy bit of ragged pillowcase around its middle.

"Speak," Arcturus said briskly, recognising that this had to be a Black Elf or else the truly paranoid Wards around Black Manor would have lobotomised it.

"Mistress Walburga is dead, Lord Black," the elf muttered miserably. "Kreacher told Master Pollux and Master Pollux said to inform Lord Black. Master Pollux will see to the funeral but requests that Lord Black deal with the house as he sees fit, as it is Master Sirius' house now. Mistress wouldn't-"

"Enough Kreacher," Arcturus said sharply before the elf could say anything further. "You are to bathe, sleep, eat what Tansy gives you and be on hand to assist the Family from the day after tomorrow. In the meantime you are to obey Lurcher."

"Kreacher obeys," the skinny elf muttered before vanishing with a crack.

Arcturus set aside his quill and rubbed his temples. He'd arranged his son's marriage once it became clear that quiet, intellectual Orion would not be finding a bride for himself, but to this day he wasn't sure why he'd thought his cousin's eldest Walburga would make a good match for his heir. That she had still been unmarried at the age of thirty-four should have been indication enough of her personality and his poor son had been completely crushed by his wife's overbearing temperament. Sadly there had been a shortage of eligible witches after the War against Grindelwald and Arcturus had genuinely believed his Uncle Cygnus' granddaughter would be an agreeable and dutiful spouse.

Orion had died young, passing away during the conflict against the self-styled Lord Voldemort mere weeks after the death of his younger son Regulus. Arcturus would have to ask Kreacher what he knew about that; after Sirius' disownment by Walburga Kreacher had primarily served Regulus. As Kreacher had been Walburga's elf and part of her dowry, this was permissible, if irregular. Orion's house-elf Pippy had been found dead within two years of the marriage, which Arcturus had his own suspicions about.

Sighing over how his unlamented daughter-in-law had managed to impose on his daily routine even after her death, Arcturus penned a letter to his daughter Lucretia and son-in-law Ignatius, requesting that they visit him for afternoon tea either today or tomorrow. In stark contrast to Walburga, Arcturus was very fond of Ignatius as the cheerful Prewett had followed in his father-in-law's footsteps and become a curse-breaker. Not that Arcturus had actually _been_ a curse-breaker: instead, newly graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Arcturus had been a tomb robber. Back then Gringotts had not had their own exploration teams but had been happy to purchase artefacts from any who found them and Arcturus' intimate understanding of the Dark Arts had made him a truly excellent ward-breaker. He'd multiplied his personal riches to equal the Black family fortune by the time Muggles had opened Tutankhamen's tomb, the aftermath of which had forced the Egyptian Magical Community to restrict the investigation of the graves of their nation's dead. Within two years of the discovery Gringotts were the only organisation large, bureaucratic and wealthy enough to sponsor expeditions, so Arcturus had retired to marry his fiancé and settled down to raise a family and write up his experiences in a proper format. He had thus far published six books on the tombs, magical artefacts and curses of the various Egyptian dynasties, though four of them only existed within the various Black Family libraries due to their restricted content making them unsuitable for sale in the British Magical Community. The two public books were standard reading material for all aspiring curse-breakers and were what had brought Ignatius Prewett to enjoy his favour.

Arcturus' daughter Lucretia took after him in being an avid student of the esoteric and largely banned magic governing the heart, mind and soul. Like him, she was also interested in the past efforts of other magical cultures in studying these most mysterious of magics and at Hogwarts had met a kindred spirit in Ignatius Prewett, a Hufflepuff with strongly Ravenclaw tendencies. Arcturus had met and approved of Ignatius, both for his eager pursuit of knowledge in the face of reactionary government censure and his devotion to the Lord Black's daughter. Their engagement approved of, Lucretia and Ignatius had completed their OWLs and NEWTs respectively then married and joined a Gringotts expedition to China, remaining abroad for the better part of fifty years. The couple had no children, but their work filled that absence easily and had retired back to England six months after the end of the recent Voldemort conflict. Both were still active as ever, but wished to be nearer their younger relatives, write up their journals in textbook form and not worry about whether their next foray into the mysteries of past civilisations would be their last.

Considering how his harridan of a daughter-in-law had been obsessed with dangerous magical artefacts, his dear Lucretia and her husband were the best people to entrust clearing the house to on Sirius' behalf. His grandson had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with his childhood home or any of his mother's belongings, though Arcturus was sure the boy would accept the library and several of his father's possessions so long as he never had to set foot in the town house on Grimmauld Place to obtain them.

* * *

><p>A week later Arcturus was standing in the drawing room of the town house on Grimmauld Place, Kreacher cringing silently beside him in a clean teatowel and looking rather less gaunt. Facing him across the low tea table were Ignatius and Lucretia: the former looked silently irate while the latter was pale with cold fury. On the tea table were laid out several dozen items, some of which Walburga had no right to at all such as Pollux' Order of Merlin that had gone missing two years ago. Slightly to one side of the very damning evidence of his daughter-in-law's insanity-fuelled kleptomania was a simple, elegant golden locket inlaid with emeralds to form the letter S. It took Arcturus a moment to recognise it; it had been a while since he'd read Bayard Rosier's twelfth century opus <em>An Accounting of the Lives of the Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry<em>.

"That is Salazar Slytherin's locket," he said flatly.

"It is heavily cursed and has been turned into a Horcrux," Lucretia said tightly. Arcturus' eyes widened: no properly raised wizard would _dream_ of creating such a foul abomination! He turned on the cowering house-elf.

"Kreacher!"

The elf burst into tears. Arcturus listened to the snivelling confession of the trembling creature and was able to determine that the locket had been brought into the house by Kreacher himself, on Regulus' orders. Regulus had been aware of its identity as a Horcrux and ordered Kreacher to destroy it, which the elf had been unable to do. Regulus had died after stealing the locket and ordering Kreacher to take it away, and his body was likely still where it had fallen. The Horcrux belonged to the Dark Lord, whom Regulus had abandoned the service of immediately upon discovering that Voldemort had indulged in such self-destructive and polluting rituals.

As the pitiful litany continued Ignatius' face became very grim indeed, Lucretia went even paler and Arcturus felt his lips set into a thin, hard line. Conventional knowledge might hold that a Horcrux could only be destroyed by Fiendfyre or Basilisk venom, both of which were so inimical to magic that they consumed and destroyed all magical artefacts until there was nothing left for a spell to anchor itself to, but there were other ways known only to curse-breakers: more complicated and less damaging ways that left the items used as soul anchors intact so they could be sold. The Lord Black met the eyes of his daughter and son-in-law and saw agreement there.

Currently standing in the late Walburga Black's drawing room were a Dark Arts Master, a Master Ward-Breaker and a Runes Mistress; once a ritual had been decided on and proper precautions taken, the Horcrux did not last more than five minutes against their concerted assault.

* * *

><p>Sitting in the drawing room drinking hot chocolate provided by a much saner-seeming Kreacher as Lurcher, Mimsy and Filly packed up the now entirely curse-free contents of the property and Grubby dealt with the contents of the greenhouses, Arcturus pondered the startling and distasteful facts he had just learned concerning the supposedly late Dark Lord.<p>

"He cannot possibly be wizard-raised," Lucretia said firmly, her mug gripped tightly in both hands, "not unless he is completely insane. He claimed to be a Hogwarts alumnus and recruited heavily from my peers in Slytherin, suggesting he was there at the same time I was and I would have noticed such an unbalanced individual. There were many who were ambitious but no-one so blatantly unhinged."

"Leading one to believe he was either a Muggle-raised half-blood or Muggleborn who never sought to learn the fundamental tenets of our culture, or discarded them entirely out of ignorance," Ignatius continued, eyes hooded under greying red eyebrows as he stared into space above the rim of his mug. "Considering he claimed to be the last true heir of Salazar Slytherin and a pureblood, I would suspect that while he is quite possibly related to the Gaunt family, who were recognised to be the last remnant of Slytherin's line prior to their deaths, his claims to be pureblooded are entirely false."

"So he has deceived the Family, brought several members of it into ruin and caused the death of my younger grandson," Arcturus concluded quietly. "This cannot be borne."

"Neither can his crimes against magic," Lucretia hissed, knuckles whitening around her mug. "The nature of the soul fragment released once the Horcrux was dismantled suggests that it was not the only one made and according to Kreacher, Regulus' heard the Dark Lord say that he had 'gone further down the path of immortality than any before him'; the largest number of Horcruxes ever made by any single individual was by Terrentius the Mad in the third century, who made two and was partly responsible for the fall into anarchy of the Roman Empire." She snarled, pausing briefly to take another sip of hot chocolate. "Which means this _abomination_ was one of at least four, since after three the next magically stable number is five."

"Unless he made six," Ignatius pointed out grimly, "as seven is the most magically powerful number."

Lucretia made a low growling sound in her throat startlingly reminiscent of Arcturus' own father Sirius Phineas Black right before that formidable wizard lost his temper and cursed someone into oblivion.

"Regardless of the number made," Arcturus said calmly, "it would probably be a good idea to examine the Blood Ward on young Dorea more closely as after making more than one Horcrux the soul becomes fractured, if Claudius Cassius Dio is to be believed."

"There is no soul fragment attached to Dorea," Lucretia said positively, "but that Ward is a true work of art. Did you know it converts background magical energy and focussed emotional energy into Soul Fire?"

"Soul Fire?" Ignatius perked up. "The 'Flames of the Will' described in the texts in the Library of Alexandria purported to be recovered from Atlantis?"

"The very same," Lucretia confirmed smugly, "and the counter to Fiendfyre as they spring wholly from the soul rather than from magic. It likely only started working that way after Lily Potter died, as her willing, selfless sacrifice and magical power kick-started the process, but little Dorry is very well protected against mental and spiritual attack so long as she remains in a magical environment and has people around her who love her."

"One less concern," Arcturus admitted, "as I'm not sure how one would go about exorcising a living Horcrux. But now let us decide what to do about the Voldemort problem."

"As he has made multiple Horcruxes he will be bound to the physical plane but not to any Horcrux in particular," Lucretia said confidently, "so he will not be able to regenerate and spontaneously reform as Herpo the Foul did before his Horcrux's destruction. He will therefore be stuck as a wraith until someone willingly offers him aid, as Terrentius was."

"According to Cassius Dio, Terrentius' haunting of Rome and its environs played a major part in the fragmentation of the empire," Ignatius mused, "as the area he inhabited became saturated in repugnant and necromantic magics, poisoning plants and animals and driving men mad." Left unsaid was that the wraith of the man calling himself Voldemort would be having a similar effect on his immediate surroundings, wherever they might be.

"As we cannot deal with the self-styled Lord Voldemort until his abominations have been destroyed, let us concentrate on those for the time being," Arcturus said firmly. "Ignatius, can you track down who had the locket before Voldemort's rise to prominence so we can narrow down potential culprits. Lucretia, you go through your Hogwarts contacts to find who vanished completely from society before the Dark Lord burst onto the stage; attacking the problem from both ends will make unravelling the middle less difficult."

"We will come to tea at Black Manor every Friday afternoon to discuss matters," Lucretia said decisively. "We should also keep detailed records; none of us are getting any younger."

Arcturus smiled over his hot chocolate at the headstrong woman his daughter had grown into and conceded her point. This quest for vengeance upon the man who had so ravaged their society with his lies and madness was likely to take some time. Time, a lot of work and research and considerable magical effort: unravelling Horcruxes was not in any way easy.


	6. Chapter 6

Beta'd by the fabulous InsaneScriptist.

I own nothing at all except the products of my own fevered imagination.

As so many reviewers have been asking, rest assured that this _will_ be a true crossover with the full KHR cast; however that will not happen until Dorea is in her teens. Just enjoy the ride, people!

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><p><strong>Of education and friendships<strong>

Seven-year-old Dorea Rosamund Black sat cross-legged on the floor of the library, a massive textbook on the history of magecraft in Ancient Rome on her lap, happily engrossed. It was now more than three years since she had begun her education and she was enjoying it immensely, even though it left her little time for anything else and she had not had the opportunity to make any more friends in the Magical Community since meeting Neville Longbottom.

She was far taller and leggier than she had been at four, her face far less rounded and her hair both longer and much tamer. Her eyes were the same uncanny shade of green, her skin still pale but lightly gilded across her forehead, cheekbones and chin, her manner still vibrant and intense. Her fingers were far more nimble than they had been at four and she was also far more graceful overall, though there was no sign of that in how she was slumped against a bookshelf with her skirt untidily pushed up above her knees and her lacy petticoats showing. Her dress was made of golden green muslin with a high neckline, close-fitting bodice, creased calf-length skirt and puffy sleeves gathered at the wrist. The garment's collar, cuffs, waistline and lower hem were decorated with blackwork embroidery of flowers and vines and the wide band around her head holding her hair out of her eyes was similarly decorated. The ribbon holding up her hair in a high ponytail was dark green, her tights were equally dark green and her buckled shoes were black leather. Her appearance made her blend in startlingly well with the few portraits hanging in the library, giving her an air of being a ghost of some past Black, lingering still.

"Dorea!" The image was lost as the seven-year-old bolted to her feet, balanced the massive tome she had been so engrossed in on a side table and hurriedly straightened her skirts in a vain attempt to banish the creases.

"Coming Great-Aunt Cassiopeia!" she called, glancing down at her dress with a wince before dashing out of the labyrinth of shelves, through the library door and down two flights of stairs to the first floor of her home. The large, magically-expanded house on South Hill Park Gardens in Hampstead called 'The Planetarium' was the place Dorea loved best, as it was where she lived with her father. She also loved her Grandfather's elegant estate in Gloucestershire, with its park, woods, farms and many secret hidey-holes, both within the main building and without. The current Black Manor had only been built in the early eighteenth century, but a great deal of the earlier Tudor palace still existed behind the house's massive Georgian façade and concealed amongst the associated outbuildings. At a distance from the main house were the remains of an even earlier Norman castle, which were not so much ruined as so heavily magically concealed that they were impossible to recognise unless you were both a Black and already knew the keep was there.

Dorea visited Black Manor every Sunday without fail, arriving mid-morning and not departing until after supper. About every other week Aunt Narcissa and Draco also visited, but Dorea found Draco's company ever more tiresome and less enjoyable. He was reluctant to do anything he believed his father would disapprove of, was ridiculously snooty about all manner of stupid things and refused to run around outdoors with her. As a result Dorea had gone out of her way to avoid him in the past month, which was likely what had instigated the change of routine that had her dashing down the stairs at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning, the first Sunday in living memory when she wasn't going to see Grandpa, not counting those occasions when she or Grandpa had been ill.

Reaching the top of the wide staircase leading to the ground floor Dorea paused to check her appearance in the hall mirror, frowned sternly at the lingering creases in her frock until they magically smoothed themselves away, then descended the last set of steps swiftly but not hurriedly and let herself into the public parlour on the ground floor.

The ground floor parlour at the Planetarium was the larger of the two such rooms within the building, with pale grey silk wallpaper patterned with floral damask, a fine parquet floor and a deep green carpet lying in the middle of it in front of the wide bay window facing the street. On the carpet were four of the room's Bergère chairs set in a semicircle around the coffee table, the other three chairs and matching loveseat set back against the walls. Only one of the chairs, the second from the right, was unoccupied, so Dorea closed the door behind her and walked across the room directly towards where she was clearly intended to sit. Picking up the cup and saucer waiting on the table she settled herself on the forest-green-and-gold upholstery to wait for Great-Auntie Cassiopeia to introduce her to the girl her own age sat on the far left.

Dorea had met lots of Muggle girls over the years and was sort-of friends with several of them; she was also friendly with her Black second cousins on Great-Uncle Marius's side of the family, though they were mostly older than her and both Dawn _and_ Deborah would be joining Desmond, Richard and Patricia at Hogwarts this September. But those cousins were mostly Muggle-raised and went to Muggle day-school during the week, so they didn't really get it when Dorea talked about learning Latin, dance, etiquette and magical history; though Gregory had been delighted with the books she'd given him on the latter for his ninth birthday back in March. Gregory Leander Black _really_ liked history, the gorier the better.

This girl however was her own age, dressed in a wizarding robe of pearly mint green with bright white embroidery all over the bodice and thin matching bands around the cuffs of the short sleeves. Her tights under the shin-length skirt were a similarly bright white and her very fashionable ankle boots were dark grey. She had fair, rosy skin, pale golden hair that was rather more vibrant in shade than Draco's flat platinum blond and large, slightly lidded eyes in a very pretty shade of blue that held a certain hint of green in their depths. Her face was much rounder than Dorea's own with a pointed chin, small, pert nose and fine, arched eyebrows. Looking at her Dorea felt like the Muggle stereotype of the wicked witch facing the good fairy. The person peeking out of those wide blue-green eyes looked to be interesting though, as her response to Dorea's intense scrutiny was to ever so slightly raise an eyebrow. Dorea's lips twitched. This might work.

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><p>Upon being informed that her mother was taking her to befriend the Black Heiress, Daphne Greengrass had not been hopeful. She'd met Draco Malfoy at a variety of minor society gatherings in the past year and a half and considered him to be a stupid, snobby boy with no concept of what <em>real<em> Slytherin qualities involved. The younger boy mentioned his 'cousin Dorea' infrequently but regularly, generally to disparage whatever Daphne and Tracy were doing in comparison. Dorea spoke French, Italian, Russian _and_ Chinese. Dorea could play the piano well enough to impress his father. Dorea could _control_ her magic. Dorea was a _real_ pureblood of impeccable breeding and no other female could possibly match that inherent family quality.

From what Daphne had picked up from between the lines and strategic eavesdropping on adults, Dorea Black was the only child of Sirius Black, heiress of the infamous, Dark and impeccably pure-blooded House of Black, incredibly intelligent, very powerful and had a rather disturbing facial resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange at the same age. Oh, and eyes in a truly uncanny shade of green. The pure-blood princess in question lived secluded from her peers, educated to the highest old-fashioned standards by a variety of aging relatives and had never interacted with anyone any less connected to her than a third cousin. All in all, she sounded as unpleasant as Pansy Parkinson but much more dangerous. Not that Daphne had met many of her peers yet either; the only reason she was best friends with Tracy Davies was that her mother and Tracy's mother had been best friends at Hogwarts and they had kept up the connection afterwards. As an old and respected pure-blood family, the Greengrasses were welcome in the highest of social circles such as the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Flints, the Bulstrodes, the Notts, the Macmillans, the Averys and the Carrows. Of course the Blacks were one such family as well, but they were much diminished in numbers and the unseen Dorea Black was the only scion of that house to carry the Black name in her generation. Well, the only _pureblood_ scion of that house; according to rumour there was a Patricia Black in Ravenclaw who was apparently a half-blood, as well as her first cousins Richard Oatley and Desmond Woodmore who were both Slytherins and two years older than her. How closely connected these three were to Dorea Black was unknown, but Daphne suspected they were descended from either squibs or disowned family members who had married muggles. Rather interestingly, said muggle-raised scions of House Black _were_ familiar with enough Magical culture for their presence in Slytherin to go without comment, if Tracy's older brother Roger's friends were to be believed. Roger Davies wouldn't be starting at Hogwarts until September after next, but most of his social circle was older than he was.

With all this in mind, it had been rather a surprise for Daphne when her mother had informed her that they had been invited to Sunday morning tea by the infamous Cassiopeia Black, Dorea Black's great-aunt and primary female guardian. Cassiopeia Black was a highly respected and very dangerous witch, a Slytherin alumnus of the class of '33 who had made a name for herself as a Dark Arts and Transfiguration Mistress on the battlefields of the War against Grindelwald. She was also a powerful Occlumens, perilously well-informed on other people's misdeeds to the point of being a suspected Legimens and highly influential in fashionable pureblood circles. That she had largely withdrawn from those circles to raise her great-niece suggested that Dorea Black was being groomed for a similar role, which did rather explain why Daphne's parents had instantly agreed to the invitation. Daphne had been all but ordered to befriend the other girl and was resigned to playing nice regardless of personal preferences.

The actual morning however had not gone quite as expected. Upon arriving at the Black residence in question, a very fine and well-kept house in an upmarket Muggle neighbourhood, Daphne and her mother had been greeted and welcomed inside by a house-elf then shown into the front parlour, where Cassiopeia awaited them. The formidable spinster had welcomed them in, poured tea for four then walked out into the hall and _bellowed_ up the stairs in a most unexpected manner before gliding back into the parlour, closing the door behind her and engaging Daphne's mother in conversation. Daphne had listened to the polite chit-chat with only half an ear, more interested in the distant thundering on the stairs, brief pause then more sedate descent down the final flight followed by the summoned Dorea Black's entrance into the parlour.

The slightly younger girl was very striking, with inky black and strongly wavy hair hanging to mid-back in a high ponytail. Her face was long and oval, her forehead high, her cheekbones, nose and jaw sharp, her chin stubborn and her eyebrows angular. Her eyes were large, long-lashed and a startlingly vivid shade of green, her skin was pale and ever so slightly sallow and her mouth was full and pouty. She wore a very old-fashioned but impeccably cut dress in golden green with delicate black embroidery around the neck, waist, hem and cuffs and had on contrastingly modern black buckled shoes and dark green tights. Daphne had seen her grandmother wearing a similar outfit in a childhood portrait and was privately glad that _her_ mother allowed her to wear the latest fashions.

As she was pondering the girl she was required to befriend said girl had gracefully and unhesitantly crossed the room to sit on the vacant chair, collecting her teacup and gazing thoughtfully at Daphne over the top of it. Daphne sat calmly under the intense scrutiny, raising an eyebrow as Dorea's eyes met her own. The slightly wicked smirk that twitched in the corners of Dorea's mouth in response to Daphne's cool acknowledgement of the Black heiress's lapse in manners made the blonde girl wonder if maybe this would work out after all.

"Now you are here, Dorea, I would like to introduce you to Lady Atalanta Greengrass and her daughter Daphne. Atalanta, Daphne, this is my great-niece Dorea."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Greengrass, Daphne," Dorea murmured politely, glancing briefly at Daphne's mother before renewing her scrutiny of her age-mate.

"Likewise," Daphne said softly half a beat behind her mother.

"Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, might I show Daphne the schoolroom?" Dorea asked abruptly.

"Of course you may Dorea; I intend to arrange for you take your dancing lessons with Daphne, so you will be seeing a lot of each-other in the future," Cassiopeia said firmly. Daphne noted with interest that the elderly lady had not demanded that she and Dorea get along; it was entirely possible that Dorea was the kind of person to take such expectations as good reason to be contrary. In which case this friendship might be very interesting indeed, the eight-year-old realised with an inner thrill of mischief. Getting to her feet and politely excusing herself to her host, Daphne followed Dorea Black out of the parlour.

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><p>Dorea <em>liked<em> Daphne Greengrass: the older girl had a quick mind, a good sense of humour and agreed that Draco was an insufferable twit. Sharing dance lessons with the blonde girl on Thursday afternoons was a welcome change in her weekly routine and Dorea found she rather liked Tracy Davies too, despite the other girl's initial standoffishness. It was nice to have friends who understood what it was like to have tutors with high expectations, relatives who decided who you would be allowed to meet and the distant but still heavy weight of duty hanging over your head. Dorea had known all her life that she was expected to marry well and produce two sons at least to carry on the Black and Potter lines. To do otherwise would be to disappoint her living relatives and let down her late mother and Uncle James, who had placed all the hopes of his family line upon her shoulders. Though it had to be said that Daphne's schedule was rather lighter than Dorea's and Tracy's was lighter still, though that was partly due to Tracy being a half-blood of a minor family and not her parents' heir.

Dorea's weekly schedule ran as follows:

Monday mornings with Great-Uncle Marius, studying mathematics and accounting followed by Muggle sciences after a midmorning break. Monday afternoons was for Muggle literature and culture, a short break for tea then cooking without magic with Great-Aunt Honora, Marius' Muggle wife. On Monday evenings Dorea practiced on the Music Room piano and spent time with her father.

Tuesdays were spent with Great-Aunt Cassiopeia: Magical History and Russian first thing in the morning followed by a brief Occlumency session and Latin. Tuesday afternoons were for Herbology and Potions' Theory before tea and Family History after tea. Tuesday evenings Dorea practiced dance, also in the Music Room, then again spent time with her father after dinner. They usually played various board or card games, talked about her lessons and what she wanted to do on Saturday with him. Sometimes Father talked about what he'd been doing during the day or shared funny stories.

Wednesdays were spent with Great-Aunt Lucretia: Art and French in the first half of the morning –usually at the same time– followed by Chinese language and culture before lunch. After lunch Dorea had Music, both theory and practice, followed by Italian language and culture. Then they would have afternoon tea and Great-Aunt Lucretia would take her riding for an hour on the Heath. Upon returning home Dorea practiced music and after dinner she listened to the Muggle Radio with her father, as Wednesdays was usually when he had paperwork do to in the evenings and thus had little time for her.

Thursday mornings were for grammar and poetry with Great-Aunt Callidora, followed by 'manners, etiquette and making friends with different kinds of people' which her Great-Uncle Septimus insisted was important. Those lessons reinforced to Dorea that Gryffindors were an alien species, Ravenclaws were stupidly insular and Hufflepuffs were highly useful and so must be cultivated. After lunch she had another Occlumency lesson with Great-Aunt Cassiopeia followed by dance lessons with Daphne, Tracy and a number of other pureblood girls including Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Lavender Brown and Lisa Turpin at a private upstairs studio off Diagon Alley. Dance was very important in pureblood society and not just for balls; a lot of family magic and ritual women's magic involved dance or at least rhythm, so it was a vital skill. After dance lessons Great-Aunt Cassiopeia would take Dorea out to a late tea in Muggle London, which was always a wonderful treat. After tea she would practice her new steps at home until supper, spend time with her father than go to bed.

Fridays continued with the same pattern: mornings were for Astronomy in the Star Room which gave the Planetarium its name, Handwriting and Composition until elevensies then Charms or Transfiguration theory until lunch. After lunch was Diction and Drama with Great-Aunt Cedrella followed by embroidery, tapestry and similar 'ladylike pursuits' that lasted until tea, after which she had another riding session before dinner. On Friday evenings Dorea practiced music or went to bed early in anticipation of the next day.

Dorea would have liked to take lessons from Uncle Remus, who was always happy to help her with her studies when he had the time, but Great-Aunt Cassiopeia wouldn't allow it because Uncle Remus wasn't family. Besides, Uncle Remus managed the Potter Estate for Papa so he was too busy to teach. Dorea accepted this laying down of the law, but didn't let it stop her from asking Uncle Remus for help with her Magical Theory. He was very good at explaining things.

Saturdays were the best day of the week for Dorea: she would get up early, have breakfast in the kitchen with her father then dress in Muggle clothes and spend the entire day out and about in London with him. Some Saturdays he took her even further afield: they had visited York, Nottingham, Oxford, Cambridge and Winchester so far. In the mornings they would visit museums, castles, stately homes or just wander around the streets while afternoons were for parks, gardens and seeing shows. Dorea had been to the ballet, the opera, a wide variety of theatre and musical performances and seen a great many movies and loved it all, though she liked musical theatre and ballet more than opera. As Saturdays were inevitably more tiring than weekdays Father would take Dorea home in time for an early dinner and they would spend the rest of the evening in the smaller, much cosier parlour on the first floor. Sometimes they played games, sometimes Father read to her and sometimes Dorea just fell asleep on him as they listened to the radio. Father never listened to the Wizarding Wireless, claiming the sound quality and programmes were vastly inferior to the Muggle ones.

Sundays were slow days: breakfast was later than on other days and right after breakfast Father would take her to Black Manor, where she was expected to make herself scarce until noon, when Sunday dinner was served. After dinner she could spend time in the parlour or library with Grandpa, explore the house and grounds or play with any other cousins who were visiting. Since Great-Uncle Marius' older grandchildren had started at Hogwarts their younger siblings were sometimes brought to visit Black Manor with their parents, but that usually didn't happen more than once a month. On Sunday afternoons before supper Dorea would practice her dance, read in the Planetarium Library or play, then after supper she had one last Occlumency lesson with Great-aunt Cassiopeia before bed.

This strict routine continued until the January after Dorea's tenth birthday, when Grandpa Arcturus died suddenly one frosty Tuesday night.


	7. Chapter 7

Beta'd by the generous InsaneScriptist.

I do not own Harry Potter, though I probably do own my Dorea.

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! I love hearing from you!

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><p><strong>Of loss and trauma<strong>

Grandad Pollux had died in the first week of the September after Dorea turned ten, prompting Cousin Dora to be hastily recalled from Hogwarts for the funeral. Despite being a curmudgeonly and bitter pureblood bigot Pollux had been inordinately proud of his Metamorphagus granddaughter, to the point that she was the only person in his will who got a significant personal bequest. The rest of his estate had passed on to his only surviving son, Cygnus. Cygnus who had disowned Auntie Andy and whom Dorea had never met. Cygnus who was apparently even more bigoted than Grandad Pollux had been.

Dorea had been shocked by the death of her father's maternal grandfather, but it had passed quickly. He'd left her all of his late wife's jewellery on the basis that, as the granddaughter of his only daughter, she had the rights to it. Irma Black née Crabbe had died of the 'flu nearly twenty years before her husband and had never been very strong to begin with. She had however been very beautiful in a pale, ethereal and slightly consumptive way and her jewel box contained a very precious and varied selection of pieces going back several generations in all manner of styles. Dorea wasn't even old enough to wear the pearls yet, but she could appreciate the beauty of the collection.

Pollux had left Dora a house and a small independence, both entirely unexpected. But even Dora had admitted quietly to Dorea after the funeral that, no matter how grateful she was for her inheritance, she didn't miss the man much. He'd not been very likeable.

On the other hand, waking up on a chilly Wednesday morning in early January to find Papa sitting at the breakfast table with his head in his hands and a nervous house-elf addressing him as 'Master Black, sir' had been the most upsetting event Dorea could remember happening to her. Her lessons had been cancelled but Great-Aunt Lucretia and Great-Uncle Ignatius had come to the Planetarium anyway to talk to Father. Dorea had sat in the garden, hugging one of the half-dozen puffskeins Saint Mungos had insisted her father keep as 'therapy animals', trying to make sense of her Grandpa being gone and never being able to see him again. Never having him praise her for her piano playing, or having her read aloud to him on Sunday afternoons, or poke at her mental barriers and praise her for her dedication to Occlumency. No more being taught rude words in other languages behind Great-Aunt Cassiopeia's back, no more being tutored in German or having her Russian pronunciation corrected, no more fascinating lectures on the differences between what magic the British Ministry had banned and what was actually Dark, no more being taught wand movements on the sly using a conductor's baton, no more little gifts and treasures at odd moments, no more debates on the nature of magic, no more pats on the head, no more hugs, no more creaky chuckles. No more Grandpa.

Dorea clutched the cooing puffskein and wept, her hair hanging lank and dull around her face.

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><p>Grandpa's death meant that Papa was now Lord Black, so Dorea, Papa and the increasingly tired and frail Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had to move out of the Planetarium and into Black Manor. The actual moving would be done by the house-elves, who were channelling their own misery and mourning into ruthless efficiency and devotion to the surviving members of the Family. Dorea was packed off to Great-Aunt Cedrella's for the duration of the move, something she had protested strenuously but to no avail. Papa had hugged her fiercely before quietly asking her to behave for her great aunt and having Moppet take her and one of the puffskeins to Weasley Hall with an overnight bag. Dorea however was not feeling at all inclined towards being a good girl. She wanted to cry and scream and break things, possibly even people. Especially if they were stupid, Gryffindorish people who wouldn't leave her alone, such as her Great-Aunt Cedrella's incredibly irritating grandchildren who had invaded the Hall for a family Christmas.<p>

Dorea had retreated into the attic within minutes of being left at Weasley Hall and staked out a window seat half-hidden amongst the rafters to read the books she'd managed to hide in her overnight bag, the puffskein snuggling against her hip. Her current favourite was one of the books Grandpa had given her for Christmas from his own library, a treatise on the various schools of wandless magic and how each claimed to work. True wandless magic had a strong emotional component, making it a Dark Art by Ministry definition, though in most cases that emotion could simply be utter certainty that the magic would work rather than fear, rage, passion or loathing. Strong negative emotions made any spell harsher and sharper, just as strong positive emotions like love softened and strengthened them.

Wandless magic depended entirely on the mind of the person wielding it, requiring single-mindedness for the duration of the casting and a very precise visualisation of what that person wanted to achieve. Unlike wand spells, which were arithmanticly constructed to create a specific effect so long as the caster got the wand movements and pronunciation right more or less regardless of their mental state, wandless magic was completely freeform. Ritual magic was technically wandless, but it used runes, body movements and other symbols to create a structure to channel magic through. True sorcery was magic controlled solely and entirely by the mind of the sorcerer. Hogwarts was a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, so it taught its students to use wands. Sorcery was almost a lost art in Britain.

There was a soft crack and Moppet appeared, ears drooping apologetically. "Lady Cedrella is sending Moppet to fetch Mistress Dorea for luncheon," the elf said softly, hands nervously twisting the edge of her pillowcase frock. The pillowcase did not look very pillowcase-like anymore, due to Dorea having used it as an embroidery sampler when she was learning to do blackwork and having also practiced smocking on it. It looked more like a dress than not, but was not clothing due to being a modified pillowcase rather than specifically created as a garment. Moppet was very proud of it.

Dorea did not want to go down to lunch and wasn't hungry, but saying so would only distress Moppet and Dorea couldn't see the point in bullying the poor creature. So instead she slid a bookmark into the hardback tome, snapped the clasps on the cover closed and tucked it into her bag so she could pick up her puffskein before heading off down the narrow spiral staircase connecting the attic to the highest actual floor of the Hall, the house-elf padding along behind her. Dorea had been given the option of leaving her bag in the small private dressing room she would be sleeping in, but had decided against doing so in light of the stories Great-Uncle Septimus had told her about some of his grandchildren. Cousin Arthur's twelve-year-old twins in particular, though their older brother William sounded interesting and less incomprehensible than the average Gryffindor.

Sitting in the large dining hall with nearly thirty other people, most of them noisy children, did nothing for Dorea's appetite; she picked at her meal, made no attempt to respond to any of her fellow diners and vanished from the table while dessert was being served, puffskein and bag in tow. This time rather than risk her attic hidey-hole being discovered she put on her coat, scarf, hat and mittens and retreated outside, climbing the massive yew tree behind the pond with a little magical assistance to help her past the tricky spots. Settled as high as she could reach, Dorea removed her gloves and absently petted the puffskein as she stared blankly out across the valley laid out below the Hall, remembering her Grandpa and doing her best not to make enough noise to attract well-meaning but very much unwanted attention from Gryffindor relatives. The tears however were beyond her control.

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><p>Fred and George Weasley weren't sure what to think of their black-haired scrap of a cousin who was the daughter of the infamous Sirius Black. They weren't sure why she was at Weasley Hall interrupting their family Christmas with her gloom and general air of misery, but it really had to stop. Christmas was a time for fun and celebration! Dorea had apparently been mostly raised by old people, which might explain why she was so miserable all the time, but that just made it all the more imperative to show her what real fun looked like. A few pranks, maybe a minor temper tantrum and Dorea would be smiling and laughing like their little sister Ginny. Ginny was a tough one to prank, being the family baby, but she <em>loved<em> payback so when she was down in the dumps the twins sometimes pranked her on purpose to drag her out of her funk.

It took them well over an hour to hunt down Dorea, she of the scary eyes and depressing disposition, but Fred eventually located her perched up in the branches of the old yew tree at the end of the back garden. He would have missed her entirely if not for the disembodied cooing of the toffee-coloured puffskein she had not let go of since arriving, a sound which had floated down the breeze as he hesitated by the gate leading to the orchard. She had been hard to spot up that tree, dressed in Slytherin colours as she was, but Fred had caught a glimpse of her wine-red bag and quietly snuck back up to the house to fetch his twin so they could plot their attack.

Their prospective victim being up a tree meant changing their plan slightly, as trees were not easy places to catch people by surprise in. Easier by far would be to set the trap on the ground and either coax her into it or wait for the early dusk to drive her back into the house. Judging the waiting game to be their better option given the demonstrated anti-social tendencies of the girl in question, Fred and George quietly set about putting together their prank on the path leading back to the house. They also set a different prank on the path leading around the pond in the opposite direction, just in case. That done, both boys retreated to hide behind the low evergreen bushes on the far side of the pond. Their baby cousin would be forced from her perch soon enough.

In fact it was already starting to get dark, so they barely had to wait any time at all before there was a scraping and scuffling from the yew tree and the leggy ten-year-old appeared beneath the spreading evergreen, red bag on her back and puffskein balanced on top of it. As they watched Dorea scrubbed her face with one gloved hand, hiccupped unhappily then turned to stare at the Hall for a long moment before sagging slightly and turning slowly along the path around the pond.

She walked right into the trap, which exploded beautifully with dungbombs, lurid pink smoke and a potion that dyed a person's hair and skin an eye-searing shade of orange. As the smoke cleared both boys eagerly leaned out of the bushes and burst out laughing as their victim became visible. Dorea looked utterly gobsmacked, eyes wide and posture as stiff as a wet cat with her hair and skin dyed in uneven orange streaks, dung splattered all over her coat and her puffskein coloured as glaringly bright as her hair. It was _hilarious!_

Then suddenly icy green eyes were boring into George's, a fey smile twisted Dorea's lips into an unsettlingly vindictive parody of amusement and both he and his twin were airborne and floating above the thin icy crust of the rather deep pond. Fred had a moment to widen his eyes in horrified realisation and let out a yelp of sheer terror before their cousin brought her hand down in a swift, deliberate movement and both of them were forcefully plunged head-first through the thin ice, into breath-stealingly cold water and pressed face-first into the sludge at the very bottom of the pond.

* * *

><p>Dorea's mind was oddly blank as she dunked the two boys who had assaulted her and laughed at her into the icy pond; part of her recognised that drowning the idiots would get her into trouble while the rest of her felt the horrible beasts <em>deserved<em> it for their mockery of her grief. However if they drowned they wouldn't get to suffer so she hoisted them out of the water for long enough for them to catch their breaths, glance at her and realise that she wasn't letting them off the hook just yet. Their wide-eyed horror and terrified screams as she plunged them back into the muddy pond were music to her ears. It was oddly easy to levitate them like this, directing their movements with a wave of her hand. It felt like there was nothing else in the world other than herself, the pond, her magic and her two victims.

She dragged them up again, shook them slightly to make sure they were both breathing and was about to dunk them once more when burning pain abruptly seared across her face and she lost control, dropping the boys into the water and blinking stupidly into the pale and furious face of her Great-Uncle Septimus, who had just slapped her. Dorea then noticed that she and the sodden duo being dragged from the pond were not the only people present, that she was covered in smelly dung and that her hair and hands were streaked with a truly awful shade of orange. Looking down further, she saw that her puffskein was equally orange and dung-spattered as it huddled against her calf, meeping pitifully.

Dorea looked back up at her Great-Uncle and promptly burst into tears.

* * *

><p>Dorea did not see the twins again until shortly before leaving Weasley Hall the following day: she had not been severely punished for half-drowning the two twelve-year-olds due to the cruel prank they had played on her immediately beforehand and her own evident grief, though Great-Aunt Callidora had given her a brief but thorough lecture on disproportionate and inappropriate responses and confined her to her room for the rest of her visit. She had not expected to see the twins at all, considering that Cousin Arthur had come to apologise on his sons' behalf shortly before she went to bed. So their surreptitious entry into the dressing room in the early hours of the morning, wrapped up in many layers of pyjamas and blankets with the steam characteristic of the pepper-up potion billowing from their ears, was entirely unanticipated.<p>

"Dear-"

"-darling-"

"-deadly-"

"-cousin Dorea,"

"my brother and I-"

"-would like to sincerely-"

"-grovellingly-"

"-unreservedly-"

"-apologise for our insensitive-"

"-and downright moronic-"

"-behaviour yesterday,"

"and promise to never-"

"-_ever_-"

"-prank you again,"

"no matter what."

"Please don't kill us!" they finally chorused, throwing themselves dramatically upon the carpet in front of the fireplace. Dorea stared at the two boys, whom she _knew_ were Hogwarts students, and couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up in her throat. It was all so ridiculous!

"A-p-p-pology ac-c-c-cepted," she managed to articulate thought the giggles, waving a hand at them. "Now g-g-g-get off the floor!"

The twin bounded back to their feet. "As you command, oh princess of payback-"

"-supreme queen of retribution-"

"-architect of swift and horrific vengeance-"

"- and mistress of magical doom!" with that they bowed low and vanished from the room with identical bright grins and cheery winks, leaving Dorea to giggle to herself and wipe away a few errant tears. Perhaps her Weasley cousins were not as bad as she thought, despite being idiot boys. With that hope in mind, she set about packing away her pyjamas in anticipation of Moppet coming to take her back to Black Manor in time for breakfast.

Little did Dorea know that she had just secured the dubious accolade of being the only person to ever succeed in traumatising both Weasley twins for life; though if she had fully understood the depth and breadth of their past exploits she would probably have decided that they deserved it.


	8. Chapter 8

Beta'd by the helpful InsaneScriptist.

I am not JK Rowling, nor do I want to be.

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><p><strong>Of victories and their price <strong>

When Arcturus died suddenly less than two weeks after the winter solstice Lucretia felt horribly guilty despite recognising that there was absolutely nothing she could have done to prevent it. Her father had been the one to locate the Horcrux made from the Gaunt family ring and had done most of the ward-breaking on the shack where it had been hidden before assisting Ignatius in unravelling the structure of the Soul Trap itself. Lucretia had exhausted herself as well, beating back the ward defences so that her father could take them down and drawing and maintaining the Exorcism Ward within which the Horcrux had been deconstructed.

Lucretia was well aware that she, her husband and her father were all far too old to be doing something so strenuous, but there wasn't anyone in the younger generation with the necessary strength and specialised skills that such difficult and dangerous work required. Dumbledore's actions in the Wizengamot following Grindelwald's defeat had made it illegal to teach the branches of magic needed to disassemble Soul Traps and unravel Dark curses at Hogwarts, so those magics persevered only abroad or within Dark families such as her own, meaning that those with both the proper mindset and access to accurate material were all but non-existent. The War against the Dark Lord had slain or driven abroad almost a third of her nieces and nephews' generation, thinning the ranks even more. Sirius' upbringing and time in prison had made it impossible for him to become a true Dark Arts Master regardless of natural aptitude –he was far too angry– and Dementor damage meant that while her nephew had a stunning aptitude for both Charms and Transfiguration, it would take him years to rebuild the mental and spiritual resilience needed for a Ward-Breaking Mastery. His inner rage at those who had abandoned him at the various stages of his life was what had prompted Arcturus to decide against informing Sirius of the Horcrux issue as soon as it emerged, as there was nothing Sirius hated more than knowing about a problem and then not being allowed to do anything about it. Though informing her nephew of the gravity of the matter would likely cause him to lose his temper, the thirty-year-old was much more mentally stable than he had been even six months previously and now could be relied upon to think about things in a mature, responsible and adult manner so long as he had taken his potions.

Upon reaching the Planetarium Lucretia had requested that Aunt Cassie send Dorea away, so as not to risk her overhearing anything. The older woman had done so with smooth logic and surprising speed, bundling the ten-year-old off to Cedrella's with an overnight bag, puffskein and personal house-elf in tow. Then as the other elves were packing up the contents of the house to either put in storage or transfer to Black Manor Lucretia led her nephew to the Planetarium's Smoking Room, which was barren other than a few elderly armchairs and a modestly-sized table.

"Sirius, now that you are Lord Black I am obliged to tell you about a project my husband and I were working on for my father," Lucretia began, sinking into one of the chairs and folding her hands in her lap. Ignatius settled in the chair closest to her while Sirius sat opposite and Aunt Cassie to one side. "He swore us to secrecy on it until his death, at which point he left things to your discretion. We kept detailed books on the project, so once I've given you the gist of things you can chase down the details for yourself if you wish." She took a breath past the misery chocking her throat. "I am reasonably certain that Father's dogged pursuit of this matter hastened his death, but I am equally sure that had you been in his shoes you would have done the same."

Sirius clenched his fists, took a deep breath and breathed out shakily. "Please continue, Aunt Lucretia."

"It began with your mother's death," Lucretia began, not beating about the bush but deciding it best to proceed in an orderly manner. "Father requested that Ignatius and I check the house for Dark and dangerous artefacts before he sent in the house-elves to pack everything away, so as to prevent accidents. We found a lot of unpleasant items, some stolen from other family members, and a Horcrux that Regulus had stolen from the Dark Lord shortly before his death."

Sirius gaped. "A Horcrux? Voldemort made Horcruxes? No wonder he was completely 'round the twist! Wait, _Regulus_ stole it? Mild, meek, obedient Regulus?"

"It seemed his loyalty did not extend far once he'd discovered that his master had blasphemed against Magic," Ignatius said dryly. "Kreacher was able to give us the details; Arcturus and I were able to locate your brother's body and take down the Wards Voldemort had placed around the place intended to protect the Horcrux, but Regulus' corpse had been transformed into an Inferius so we were forced to destroy it. The ashes are in the Black Crypt." The many, many other Inferi had also been destroyed, most of them Muggle but a few not. The Wizard bodies Ignatius had turned over to the Unspeakables, who had in turn quietly informed the relevant parties so that the ashes could be interred.

"Sweet Merlin, my poor brother," Sirius choked, hands covering his face as his shoulders shook. "So damn true to his principles no matter how misguided; I was supposed to be the rash Gryffindor of the family, not him!"

A soft crack heralded the arrival of Tansy, who set down a tea tray on the table then retreated from the room. Aunt Cassie leaned forward to pour the tea, handing it out as Sirius tried to recover his composure.

"You were saying, Auntie Lulu?" he rasped, carefully cradling his cup and saucer with slightly trembling hands.

"The Horcrux was anchored in Slytherin's locket," Lucretia went on, the childish nickname warming her heart in spite of the situation, "and the Dark Lord always claimed to be both a Slytherin alumnus and heir to the founder himself, so once Father, Ignatius and I had neutralised it we set about seeking his true identity in order to make finding the other Horcruxes we believed him to have made simpler. He recruited heavily from my peers, so I began investigating which of the male Slytherin alumni in the years above and below mine had vanished without a trace before the Dark Lord started recruiting." That had been no easy task: several had vanished overseas, some had changed their names and Lucretia had found the long-dead remains of three in their heavily-warded homes, their disappearances from society never investigated, which smacked of premeditated murder and cover-ups. "At the same time Ignatius was investigating the locket, hoping to come across the Dark Lord's identity from that angle."

Ignatius lowered his teacup and continued, giving Lucretia the opportunity to wet her throat and gather her thoughts. "The last known owner of Slytherin's locket was Hepzibah Smith, who was rumoured to also own Hufflepuff's cup. Smith bought the locket from Caractacus Burke; I managed to get out of him that he'd bought it from a very pregnant young witch who'd not had a clue as to its value but _had_ known it was Slytherin's." Ignatius paused. "The only pureblood line that could claim to be descended from Salazar Slytherin was the house of Gaunt, though their fortunes turned rather sour halfway through the eighteenth century and their last male heir died in Azkaban a few years back. Interestingly, what landed Morfin Gaunt in Azkaban in 1943 was his murder of the family of the local Muggle landowner, one Thomas Riddle. Morfin's father was Marvolo Gaunt and he had a sister called Merope, who vanished without a trace after her father and brother were put in Azkaban back in 1926 for using magic on the son of the Muggle landowner Morfin later murdered, whose name was Tom Riddle."

Lucretia took up the tale again. "Putting Ignatius' results together with my own, we identified the self-styled Lord Voldemort to probably be Tom Marvolo Riddle, a Muggle-raised orphan who was in the year below me at Hogwarts. He was brilliant, charming, had a circle of friends who all went on to be Death Eaters and any indiscretions he may have committed were never discovered. His surname suggests a connection to the Muggle family murdered by Morfin Gaunt and his middle name is unusual enough to indicate a definite link to the Gaunt family, making it likely he was Merope's son by either the married landowner or said landowner's son, who would have been about her age. I left Hogwarts before Riddle started his fifth year but I managed to find out that after graduating he tried to apply for a teaching position, turned down several Ministry positions and got a job at Borgin and Burke's, which he resigned from less than two years later. He has not been seen or heard from since under that name, but a man calling himself 'Lord Voldemort' started recruiting followers about a decade later."

There was a brief silence as Sirius and Aunt Cassie took this in.

"Arcturus took our research and conclusions and took it further," Ignatius said, setting his cup and saucer down on the table. "He investigated the Gaunt residence, determined that it contained a probable Horcrux and purchased the land and property from the Gaunt Estate, the money from which was likely used to pay for the estate to be fully dissolved and properly valued by the Ministry. Then, this past midwinter, he took us down to the shack and broke through the wards so we could verify that there was indeed a Horcrux on the premises. Once Lucretia had identified it and I'd broken the curses on the item, Arcturus took the magic apart." The greying redhead paused. "Curse-breaking's a young man's job really; it takes a lot out of you. Arcturus knew damn well he was shortening his life by using Dark Arts that much at his age but he was determined to sabotage the bastard who'd murdered his grandson and committed such an abomination."

Sirius huffed. "To think mother could never understand where I came by my Gryffindorish tendencies."

Lucretia snorted. "All of us _real_ Blacks are unafraid to do what it takes to protect and avenge family; we just happen to prefer doing so in cunning and untraceable ways. You are far too brash about it all, which gives _your_ enemies more of a chance to thwart you."

Sirius let out a short bark of laughter. "Too true, Auntie! So, Grandfather died after exhausting himself destroying a second Horcrux."

"We believe there to be at least one more," Lucretia said calmly, "possibly the still-missing Hufflepuff cup that was not among Hepzibah Smith's belongings after she died. We think there are actually two more, as five is the next most stable magical number after three and if the Dark Lord were truly dead his followers would have lost their Dark Marks completely, which we would have heard about in the Prophet by now. Ignatius believes the Dark Lord's wraith to currently be haunting the forests of Albania, given the Dark rumours emerging from that part of the Europe at the moment. As the wraith will not fade until all Horcruxes have been unmade we are leaving him to his own devices for now, since we cannot destroy him."

"Understandable," Sirius muttered. "Auntie Lulu, can you teach me to unravel Horcruxes?"

Lucretia raised an eyebrow. "The Ministry considers the knowledge and spells required to make and unmake Soul Traps to be Dark Arts, you realise, despite them having initially been created to contain amortal beings such as poltergeists, boggarts and dementors. Herpo the Foul perverted their purpose to create the first ever Horcrux and they were tarred with the same brush ever after, though that was partly due to a number of other earlier Dark Lords and Ladies using Soul Traps to ensnare the souls of the newly-dead for various Dark Rituals and imprison ghosts."

"Voldemort's hiding bits of his soul in Dementor traps?" Sirius hooted in glee. "That's just so damn poetic!"

* * *

><p>Sirius would be the first to admit he didn't know anything about Horcruxes other than that they were Abominations with a capital 'A'. Considering it had been his mother he had heard it from <em>that<em> had stuck, as there were very few branches of magic Walburga Black had considered inappropriate. Learning the details of what one _was_ made the new Lord Black want to vomit, and he understood all too well why his little brother had defected from Voldemort on discovering that his master had made even _one_ of the foul things.

He would have preferred to start learning about Soul Traps at once –the idea of imprisoning Peeves was incredibly tempting– but there had been a hurried Floo call from Weasley Hall at that very moment and Sirius had been forced to confront an irate Molly Weasley over his daughter's attempt to drown her twin sons. It had taken minutes –admittedly chopped up into fifteen- and twenty-second snatches in the intervals within Molly's tirade– to get the full story from Septimus and Cedrella but most of an hour to get their temperamental Prewett daughter-in-law to calm down and be reasonable, even with Ignatius and Lucretia supporting him. Once Molly had understood the situation she had apologised profusely for her children's insensitive behaviour, her own impetuousness and her slander of Sirius' character, then hurried back through the Floo, no doubt to give the young twin Weasleys what-for. Her husband Arthur had stayed behind just long enough to apologise again before following Molly back to Weasley Hall, by which point Sirius was too tired and drained to do anything except eat a light meal and fall into bed early. It had been a truly dreadful day, full of news of unpleasant revelations and premature deaths.

The rest of the week did not improve: moving into Black Manor felt strange and wrong somehow without Grandfather there with them, but Dorea seemed to find the antiquated surroundings comforting. Her lessons remained cancelled until after the funeral on the coming Saturday so his green-eyed girl took to haunting the Black Library, riding the family's Aethonans across the skies high above the bleak, wintry landscape and watching the griffins that were nesting on the battlements of the otherwise uninhabited and heavily Warded Black Keep on its hill in the middle of the estate. Sirius was somewhat relieved by her absence, as it gave him the time and space to do his own mourning and get to grips with the details of his family's financial situation –extremely comfortable and well-managed, unlike the Potter Estate had been by the time he'd got out of jail– and read the journals Arcturus had left behind for him. The old man had known very well that he was coming to the end of his life and had set up everything so that Sirius would be able to take over without a hitch.

The young Lord Black couldn't help comparing these clear records, precise financial plans and carefully annotated business forecasts with the mess he'd had to deal with upon being recognised as Regent Potter. Over half the Potter accounts books hadn't been touched since Charlus died due to James being so busy fighting on the front lines of the War, almost everyone who owed the family money hadn't paid a knut since the War ended, the investments were stagnant, the businesses poorly managed or being heavily embezzled from, the properties were decaying and the house-elves were barely surviving! Only James' forethought in having all the Potter elves meet his baby daughter and heir had kept them from passing away within a year of his and Lily's death and they had still all been in truly dreadful shape.

Sirius had been forced to acquire new elves so the older ones didn't kill themselves through overwork, thoroughly shake down all the business managers –being a Black newly released from Azkaban had helped there– go over all the financial records with a fine-tooth comb and reapportion everything, which had been a headache even with Remus deciphering the legalese for him. He'd also taken the time to sue the people who'd been making money off the 'Girl Who Lived' nonsense, sent Goblin bailiffs to reacquire all the missing Potter heirlooms –which had cost him _all_ of the Potter Estate's Goblin-forged artefacts but had been completely worth it– and been forced to hold his temper when it turned out that James' invisibility cloak, the special family one that even hid you from the Marauder's Map, had been in Dumbledore's possession that fateful Halloween night. As it was he'd made it clear that any past allegiance to the Headmaster was permanently severed then gone back to the Planetarium and locked himself in his room so he could shout and scream and rage at the unfairness of it all. If James hadn't lent the cloak to Dumbledore he and Lily might have still been alive!

It had taken three years for him and Remus to get everything straight and another two for the Potter fortunes to start recovering. It would be at least a decade before the Potter coffers were as full as they had been when Charlus died, but that didn't mean Dorea would be hard-up upon inheriting the Potter title at seventeen; quite the opposite. Even in their original state of shambles there'd been enough hard cash in the vaults to get Dorea through Hogwarts very comfortably and allow her to live another thirty years without ever working so long as she did so modestly. Sirius was very proud of how well he'd managed his brother's estate though: the houses ruined during the War were rebuilt, freshly Warded and being properly maintained, the businesses were thriving, Potter Manor was in excellent nick and he'd upgraded the house's Ward system to include a few Black wards that were a bit more nasty than those his adoptive family had installed. Which reminded him, it was past time to start Dorea on the Potter Grimoires as he was pretty sure Grandfather and Great-Aunt Cassie had already taken her through the preliminary material in the Black Grimoires, even though he doubted his daughter had been permitted to see the books themselves.

His father had been the one to tutor him in Family Magic before he left for Hogwarts, as Orion Black had been the heir to the main family and inheritor of those Grimoires. Those lessons had continued in the following three summers despite his being sorted into Gryffindor, but after his fourth summer had been devoid of that precious time away from his mother –his birthright! – Sirius had not returned to his parents' house the following year. After getting out of Azkaban and getting his equilibrium back a bit Arcturus had taken up teaching him where Orion had let off and Sirius was far enough through now to be able to continue alone, but it stung sometimes that his mother had pressured his father into breaking with the very traditions she claimed were so vitally important just because he'd been sorted into the 'wrong' House.


	9. Chapter 9

Beta'd by the inspirational InsaneScriptist.

I'm sure I've done enough disclaiming by now, haven't I?

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><p><strong>Of change and anticipation<strong>

After Grandfather's funeral Dorea's weekly schedule changed dramatically, becoming much less busy yet far more challenging. In anticipation of her starting Hogwarts in the coming autumn Great-Aunt Cassiopeia completely did away with the strict, predictable regime that had accompanied her from early childhood and introduced her to the much more difficult concepts of personal motivation and independent study. She now had either two short lessons each weekday followed by a project or task to be completed by the lesson the following week, or else a long practical session that lasted half the day and had to be studied for in advance. Saturdays were entirely free for her to do with as she wished –and if she wanted to go somewhere with her father or any other relative she had to ask at least a day in advance and have a specific location in mind– and Sunday afternoons were now dedicated to learning her Potter heritage. It took Dorea until mid-March to really get to grips with the new system, by which point she'd come to enjoy the freedom it gave her.

Monday mornings were now dedicated to Muggle outings, usually with Aunt Drusilla, Great-Uncle Marius' younger daughter. Dorea had to be appropriately dressed, have the right money and accoutrements and use her initiative and theoretical knowledge to navigate different situations without attracting unnecessary attention to herself. Dorea thus learned to catch a bus, plan and execute a train journey, buy clothing in a variety of different kinds of shops, navigate a street market, buy music recordings, navigate a public library and many other everyday Muggle activities. It was always the clothes that gave Dorea the greatest difficulties, but she was getting better at discerning which Muggle garments went together and which were most suitable for different occasions.

Monday lunchtimes were for discussing what had happened in the morning, listening to what improvements could be made and being told what the next week's expedition would be; After the chaotic first few weeks Dorea bought a diary and several notebooks and made a point of writing everything down. Monday afternoons were for reading Muggle literature, which was something of a guilty pleasure of Dorea's, and the only limitation on her time was that she had to be back at Black Manor in time to change for dinner. Dorea had quickly learned that it was best to be back at least an hour before dinner, so she had some time to do her independent study in.

Tuesday mornings included an hour-long lesson on Magical History, a ten-minute break then another hour-long lesson on Russian conversation and literature, generally a conversation discussing what she'd read since the previous lesson from the books Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had made available to her. She then had an hour before lunch to use as she pleased –which she'd personally designated to piano practice– then after lunch she had an intensive two-hour session on preparing potion ingredients and basic brewing, during which Great-Aunt Cassie always spent the first half-hour explaining different ways of preparing ingredients, why they made a difference and which kinds of potions different methods were best suited for. Dorea took lots of notes and really enjoyed the lessons, no matter how much pressure her Great-Aunt put on her during them. After potions Dorea had to change for afternoon tea, but was free for the rest of the day. She generally studied for an hour or so while sitting in the private parlour with Great-Aunt Cassiopeia then went riding above the grounds on Lark, her Aethonan. Dorea loved flying, loved being high enough up to feel cradled in the sky. Brooms didn't quite do it for her though; they were somehow fake. What she secretly dreamed of was unassisted flight, something her father had told her that Lily Potter had been capable of.

Wednesdays still involved art, but instead of visiting Great-Aunt Lucretia her aunt came up to Black Manor and sent Dorea out of the house for an hour to draw or paint something from life. Her work was never finished in that time, but she then had a week to complete the picture –not necessarily in a manner that was true to life– to her own satisfaction. She then had an hour and a half of Chinese calligraphy under her Great-Aunt's exacting eye, followed by French conversation over lunch. In the afternoons Dorea had two hours to herself before being taken to piano lessons in a studio above Concordia and Plunkett, the music shop in Diagon Alley. Her tutor was a severe, grey-haired spinster by the name of Miss Luella Selwyn, who was the best pianist Dorea had ever heard and frowned severely whenever she divined her pupil hadn't practiced enough. After an hour under Miss Selwyn's stern tutelage Dorea was whisked away home again for a brisk walk around the Manor's extensive gardens –rain or shine– and Italian conversation, followed by dinner. After dinner her time was once again her own, so Dorea usually studied for an hour before immersing herself in her latest book taken from the Black Library until bedtime.

Thursday mornings had changed entirely: she now had combat lessons in the Manor's Long Hall. She was instructed on the etiquette of the duel, the many reasons _not_ to abide by that etiquette in a real fight and actual physical combat with real swords. Well, real wooden swords since she was a beginner. Her tutor was a lean, grizzled wizard whom her great-aunts Cassiopeia and Callidora had gone to school with; his name was Domitian Rookwood and she was required to call him 'Sir'. He was a harsh taskmaster and bruised her multiple times every single session, but Dorea stuck with the lessons regardless because she was allowed to use a real wand during them. A family wand rather than a personally fitted one, but she could still cast real spells!

In recognition of the severe exertion required of her in the mornings, Thursday afternoons were dedicated to ladylike activities such as her completing her art, reading aloud, embroidery and so on. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia now regularly invited acquaintances, allies and so on around for tea on Thursdays, so Dorea got to spend time with her own friends and allies as well as get acquainted with the other purebloods and halfbloods her age and younger that she would be attending Hogwarts with. As host Dorea was required to be impeccably polite, but she soon got very good at concealing snide or cutting remarks within seemingly innocuous phrases. Great-aunt Cassiopeia considered the ability to do so a life skill, so Dorea's efforts in this area was encouraged.

Friday mornings were when Papa sat down with her for two hours after breakfast to guide her through her first forays into the Black Grimoires. As her father's only heir and the only heir he was ever likely to have, considering he couldn't find a witch who matched his exacting personal standards for a wife and his having spent several years in Azkaban –though Dorea wasn't sure why that mattered considering he'd been wrongfully imprisoned– she had the right and duty to learn the Family Magic so she could pass it on to her heirs. In fact, she had the right and duty to learn as much of it as possible, so the sooner she got started the better. It was not at all easy or even reliably fun, even though she got to use a wand, and Dorea was incredibly grateful for all the lectures on the nature of magic and the differences between banned magic, dangerous magic and Dark magic that her much-missed Grandpa had given her over the years.

After this taxing lesson she was free until lunch, after which she was free until four at which point she had advanced dance lessons at the studio until six. They were now learning partnered dances, which meant boys and, inevitably, Draco. He had become an embarrassing and pretentious snob, saying things best left unsaid and making Dorea cringe at his utter lack of tact and utter incomprehension of the concepts of 'promoting allegiances' and 'politic behaviour'. His heavy-handedness was almost Gryffindor in its arrogant assurance of success and Dorea did a lot of quiet apologising behind his back to keep the Family's allies sweet. She blamed the idiocy on Lucuis Malfoy's over-indulgence of his son, which was pretty much public knowledge and much deplored in private parlours as having ruined the boy. Dorea often heard about his various social gaffes on Thursday afternoons over tea.

Saturdays were, of course, entirely open for her to do with as she wished, as were Sunday mornings. Dorea had made a list of things she liked doing and places she wanted to visit and worked through it methodically, as that was the only way to get things done. Leave the day entirely unstructured and she'd end up doing nothing at all!

* * *

><p>The months passed by swiftly for Dorea; she learned quickly, became more fluent in using the theoretical knowledge already acquired and started to explore what it was she enjoyed as opposed to what her relatives thought she would enjoy. She also grew more independent, asking for adult accompaniment on her various ventures out of the Black Estate rather than waiting for someone to take her somewhere. She also started to visit Daphne at Greengrass Court, getting to meet Daphne's little sister Astoria and even Astoria's friends, the Carrow twins Flora and Hestia.<p>

By June Dorea was starting to feel the creeping excitement infecting everyone in her age-group, the anticipation of receiving their Hogwarts letters. Dorea knew she would be seeing Neville at Hogwarts; about a year ago he'd written to her about being dropped out of a window by his Great-Uncle Algie and bouncing down the front drive. Dorea had responded to this outrage against her cousin's person by sending Algernon Fawley, Great-Aunt Callidora's son-in-law, a cursed letter. Since then she had not been permitted to visit either Great-Aunt Callidora or Neville, but she could exchange letters still and Neville had written to her that the Healers at Saint Mungos had managed to reverse the curse transfiguring his ears so he no longer looked like a donkey, but that he still brayed sometimes when he laughed. Sirius had punished her for stealing a wand to cast the curse, but he'd thought her 'prank' hysterical and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had seemed quietly pleased with her appropriate, embarrassing and non-lethal vengeance on a relative's behalf.

The next change in Dorea's life as a direct result of her immanent transition to Hogwarts was carried out by her combat master. On the third week of June Dorea entered the Long Hall –in half-armour of course, because combat should be planned for– to find Mr Rookwood waiting as usual and a well-built teenage boy she didn't know standing next to him in half-armour with a real sword at his hip. Dorea judged him to be fourteen or possibly a bit older and he had freckles, a somewhat sullen expression on an otherwise rather pleasant face, mousy brown hair and ears that stuck out slightly.

"Black, this is Avery," Mr Rookwood said shortly. "He's another of my pupils and he'll be responsible for continuing your swordplay at Hogwarts. From now on you will be fighting him, either under my supervision or that of the Bloody Baron, until I decree otherwise. Questions?"

Dorea thought quickly. "Might I know my new tutor's full name?"

Domitian Rookwood grinned toothily. "Miss Black, may I introduce Audric Avery? Audric, this is Dorea Black, heiress of House Black."

The newly introduced Audric bowed shortly and Dorea made a quick curtsey in return.

"Now that foolery's out of the way," Mr Rookwood continued seamlessly, "Avery, put your sword down and pick a practice blade. Black, prepare yourself."

The lesson continued from there and Dorea got several different impressions: that Audric Avery didn't like her much; and that Mr Rookwood had brought him here as a favour to either the boy personally or one of his immediate relatives. Her tutor had not specified that Avery was in line to inherit and Dorea was familiar enough with recent history to know that at least two members of the Avery family –one the current family head– had been supporters of the Dark Lord. It was possible that Mr Rookwood was somehow related to _this_ Avery and was trying to give him alternatives, but equally possible that the frankly intimidating older man was trying to teach the teenager a lesson of some kind. Dorea didn't speculate, didn't go out of her way to make cruel, snide comments about his family or social status and just concentrated on the lesson to hand.

The weapon she was being trained to use was the tenth-century Germanic spatha, which was a real battlefield weapon rather than the stylised duelling rapier more commonly taught as a sporting weapon. This hammered home the fact that she was being taught a life skill rather than a diverting pastime; the spatha had been developed by the Romans to kill people efficiently with and the tenth-century Germanic variant had a slightly longer blade tipped with a short curve to the point and was made of much better-quality steel. It was a tool for killing people and Mr Rookwood made sure she knew it and knew how to use it.

Dorea hoped that Avery would decide to like her; it would make things so much less difficult for the both of them in the long run.

* * *

><p>After three weeks of fighting Avery and being corrected and berated for her incompetence by Mr Rookwood, Dorea got the feeling that her teenage tutor was settling into his position as senior student and didn't seem inclined to abuse that authority. He stuck to fighting her on a level she could almost match, didn't demonstrate new moves unless Mr Rookwood told him to and the tension around his eyes had eased entirely. Dorea hadn't managed to have even a rudimentary conversation with the older boy yet, but recognised that it was unlikely they'd be given time for such pleasantries until they were both at Hogwarts. In the meantime she got to know his fighting style, favourite moves and footwork in the vain hope of managing to outwit him.<p>

However she was tidily distracted from that goal first thing in the morning on Friday by the arrival at the breakfast table of a self-important-looking tawny owl carrying a crisp parchment envelope sealed with the Hogwarts crest. Upon setting eyes on the letter Dorea squealed in a most unladylike manner, quickly accepted it from the owl's talons and shakily slit the envelope open. She ignored the overly pretentious heading and the crisp perfection of the calligraphy; these letters were all written by automated quills and Albus Too-Many-Middle-Names Dumbledore was, according to Papa, a man with far too much on his plate and well past his prime, who insisted on meddling in things he should leave well enough alone and didn't have anybody to deflate his ego for him so he could realise these deficiencies for himself. The whole 'Girl Who Lived' nonsense he'd started was evidence enough.

_Dear Miss Black, _the important bit of the letter began,

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

The only thing on the letter actually written by a person was Madam McGonagall's signature, but Dorea didn't really care. She had her Hogwarts letter! Then she remembered that she was required to answer.

"Could you wait a few minutes while I reply?" she asked the owl politely, using the manners she'd developed to talk to the griffins with. "Please help yourself to bacon in the meantime."

The owl hooted agreeably and snatched up a rasher of bacon as Dorea pulled out a sheet of parchment from her bag and a good quill. The letter she wrote was short and to the point:

_Dear Deputy Headmistress,_

_Thank-you for your letter; I will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and look forward to the beginning of term._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dorea Black_

_Heiress of House Black_

Quickly reading the letter over to ensure there were no ink blots or glaring errors, Dorea then rolled up the parchment for the owl to take. The large bird swiftly gobbled down another rasher of bacon then accepted the note and flew off again.

"Well, that suggests a change of plans for the day doesn't it?" Papa said cheerfully. "Get your booklist out, Dorry-Rose, and we'll see what you need to buy new as opposed to what we've got already. After all, why buy a new book when you could have one that already has lots of useful notes in the margins?"

"Papa!" She was a big girl now, so she was too old for baby nicknames!

"Fine, Dorea-dear, as you wish," Papa sighed. "They grow up so fast…"

Great-Aunt Cassiopeia snorted quietly but did not voice disagreement, so Dorea started reading the other sheet of parchment that had been in the envelope. Great-Aunt Cassie had got very frail these past months and Dorea was starting to worry about whether the elderly lady would still be here when she came back from Hogwarts for Christmas.

Dorea skimmed over the uniform requirements; those would be bought new regardless. The book list gave her pause and elicited a disgusted huff: Bathilda Bagshot's _A History of Magic_ was as boringly middle-of-the-road as it was possible for a history text to get, didn't cite any original period sources and glossed over most of the important bits like how and why things had happened at all; Adalbert Waffling's _Magical Theory_ was equally derivative, lacked depth and was hopelessly outdated in places; and _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ was the same book her father had used twenty years ago! The other books had been in use for over forty years and were all standard texts: reliable, basic and superficial. She already had several copies of the entire seven volume set of Miranda Goshawk's _The Standard Book of Spells_ and had been studying the other four required books for several years already. If she was to make any progress at _all_ she would clearly have to take along some additional reading, as well as properly explore the Hogwarts Library.

Of course, she'd have to leave at home most of the interesting books, as Hogwarts limited itself to what the Ministry considered legal. Which wasn't all that much, considering.

Her eyes drifting down to the other equipment she'd need, Dorea realised that she had an important question to ask:

"Papa? Will I be getting a new wand?"

"Yes you will; new wands sold to underage children are a means of identification, but I'll let you take a second, Family wand in case of emergencies. Be sure to keep the second wand a secret though!"

"Yes Papa!" thrilled at the thought of getting a wand of her very own, Dorea dismissed the rest of the list; those she had already. The final note concerning pets was a bit disheartening, but she hadn't really expected to be allowed to take Lark with her anyway. She didn't have an owl of her own –Black Manor had an extended family of eight great grey owls in residence that ensured the mail was delivered and woe betide anyone who tried to stop them– and didn't care for toads, but she didn't fancy a cat either. A snake would be nice, as they were good conversationalists, but that would give away her extra-secret gift, the one Great-Aunt Lucretia had instructed her to keep even _more_ quiet than her moderate Metamorphagus ability and had led to much mumbling about her mother's magical heritage.

The injunction against brooms she ignored; brooms were boring compared to winged horses, griffons and hippogriffs. They were just wood and spell-work created in a mockery of the living, breathing magnificence of a winged beast. However there remained just one vitally important question:

"Can we go straight after breakfast, Papa?"


	10. Chapter 10

Beta'd by the jovial Insane Scriptist

As so many people have asked, I am officially announcing that this _will_ be a full cast KHR crossover, but that bit won't start until after Dorea is fifteen. I have big plans and those kinds of things take time to set up properly.

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><p><strong>Of shopping and foreshadowing<strong>

Slightly unfairly, Papa did not agree to take Dorea shopping immediately after breakfast. His reasoning was that waiting until mid-morning would give Dorea time to send Daphne a message via Moppet, so the two girls could shop together, and mean Great-Aunt Cassiopeia would have someone to talk to over tea while Papa accompanied Dorea around the Alley. While still impatient to get going Dorea bowed to her father's reasoning and scribbled a quick invitation to Daphne and her family. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia tired rather quickly now, but Dorea knew better than to suggest she stay behind at Black Manor while Dorea did her Hogwarts shopping!

Moppet came back with a reply not even five minutes after Dorea had sent her: Daphne's equally hurried missive stated that the Greengrass Family were delighted to accept the Black Family's invitation, and that they would Floo over in an hour's time. Dorea made good use of that time to go rooting around in the Lumber Room for a suitable trunk to transport all her various possessions to school in. Due to the numbers of past Blacks attending Hogwarts having been much higher, there was a large variety of different trunks of varying ages to choose from. Dorea eventually settled on a large, modestly ornamented dome-top trunk made of teak which was barely scarred at all and had a large number of very interesting security runes painted all around the inside lip of the lid. It also had an interior six times the size of the actual trunk divided into in two separate compartments accessible by different unlocking methods, three different secret cubbyholes on the inside and six more on the outside, the smallest being only just large enough for a wand. According to Lurcher this trunk had belonged to her Great-Great-Great Aunt Isla, who had travelled a lot in the Muggle world before marrying a muggle and getting thrown out of the Family. It was fitted with permanent internal Security Charms to prevent anything placed inside from being moved or damaged during transit no matter how much the trunk was thrown around, Anti-Theft Wards, considerable Warding against magical damage and could always be lifted easily no matter how much was inside it. When she'd run away to get married she'd taken her other, rather larger trunk with her, but this one had just been put into storage and forgotten about.

The trunk wasn't actually empty: the compartment hidden in the top of the lid was actually a built-in mirror and makeup case still containing a number of bottles, jars and packets of soap, perfume, powder and so on. They were all perfectly useable due to the Stasis Ward carved into the sides of the compartment, so Dorea moved them all to the lower shelf of the miniature vanity so her own hairbrush, soap, shampoo and lip balm could go on the upper levels. She'd never worn makeup before herself –she'd not even considered it really– but if she ever did want to there was plenty of space for things to fit into.

Lurcher insisted on carrying the trunk to her bedroom, ready to be packed once she returned from Diagon Alley, and Dorea checked her watch then hurriedly changed into a clean and rather smarter lightweight robe in royal blue with silver piping, slipped her feet into her sandals and took a brush to her hair, taming and softening the wild ringlets before tying them back in a high ponytail. Her hair sorted, Dorea grabbed a shoulder bag, picked up her Gringotts key from her jewellery box and hung it around her neck for safekeeping and dashed off downstairs to greet her friend, who would be coming through the fireplace in the atrium any minute.

She arrived just in time to see the flames flare green and Lord Greengrass step out, holding onto Daphne's hand. Dorea beamed.

"Welcome to Black Manor, Lord Greengrass, heiress Greengrass."

Lord Greengrass smiled fondly at her as he released Daphne's hand. "Good morning Dorea. All ready to set out for Diagon?" Behind him the fire flashed green again and Lady Greengrass and Astoria stepped out onto the front hearth.

Dorea bounced on her toes. "Yes! I'll just go and see if Papa and Great-Auntie are ready too." She ran to the door then had to pull herself up short to avoid running into her father, who grinned down at her mischievously as Great-Aunt Cassiopeia appeared in the hallway behind him, wearing her summer coat, hat and lacy gloves.

"All ready, Dorea dearest?" Papa asked, that naughty look still shining in his eyes. Dorea huffed; she knew that look.

"What have I forgotten, Papa?"

Her father obligingly held out the piece of parchment detailing what she would need to take to Hogwarts. Upon seeing it Dorea abruptly remembered that she'd left it on the breakfast table and groaned, her cheeks darkening the barest fraction. She tried to snatch it off him but he held it up out of her reach. "What do we say, Dorry-dear?"

"Papa!" Dorea protested at the babyish nickname before dropping her hand and sighing dramatically. "Thank-you for picking up my list for me, Papa. May I have it?"

Her father promptly handed it over, still smiling cheekily. "Of course, daughter-mine. Do try not to lose it."

Dorea sniffed, putting her nose in the air as she slid the parchment into her bag. "_I'm_ not the one who left their coat at the theatre and had to send Wispy to fetch it, Papa."

"Shall we depart?" Great-Aunt Cassiopeia said firmly before Papa could do more than gasp dramatically and clutch at his chest. "The longer we wait the busier it will get." With that she set off towards the front door, outside which Mr Stewart was doubtless waiting with the car.

The Stewarts had been retainers of Black Manor since time immemorial, and while no Stewart had ever attended Hogwarts they were nonetheless a magical family with a strong affinity for creatures: they tended to the Estate's griffins, cared for and exercised the Aethonans, made sure the Muggle tenants on the more far-flung farms weren't bothered by jarveys and other, similar tasks. They also drove large number of coaches that Dorea had been taken to various places in as well, which was always fun as hitching up Aethonans to a coach meant flying to your destination, but since the thirties a number of cars had been added to the small fleet of conveyances. All the cars were fully licensed in both Muggle and Magical societies and extensively Charmed. As there would be seven people sitting in the back of the vehicle, Dorea knew the car outside would be either the 1936 Rolls-Royce Phantom II or the much newer Bentley T2, which had been bought and Warded during the Voldemort War and was probably bomb-proof. Shortly after Grandpa had bought it Mr Stewart had reputedly run down a Death Eater firing Blasting Curses directly at the windscreen and the car hadn't even been scratched.

The car waiting was in fact the classically stylish Phantom II, so Dorea clambered in after Astoria, settled herself on one of the four backwards-facing seats and waited impatiently for everyone to settle. It didn't take long.

* * *

><p>Once they arrived at the Wizarding entrance to Horizont Alley Great-Aunt Cassiopeia and Lady Greengrass left the main party, taking Astoria with them. Dorea suspected they'd distract the nine-year-old with a trip to Pilliwinkle's Playthings and possibly a sweet shop before settling in at Theodosia's, the best tea shop in the entire Wizarding district. Leaving them to it, Dorea grabbed her father by the hand and tugged him onwards towards Gringotts: this would be the first time she would be allowed to take money out of the vault Mother and Uncle James had left her and she was really looking forward to seeing it!<p>

Emerging from Gringotts half-an-hour later, windswept and slightly giddy from the cart ride, Father steered her firmly towards Twilfitt and Tattings. "Much as I would like you to enjoy the same Hogwarts experience as everyone else, including getting fitted at Madam Malkins," he said quietly as they left the main thoroughfare and into a small square lined with much more tastefully dressed windows, "as heiress Black you have an image to uphold and I'll not have your school friends getting silly ideas into their heads concerning the Family's finances." Because the Blacks were as close to royalty as Wizards could get and were held to a higher standard, so wearing normal school robes would be seen as either penny-pinching or a sign that the family finances were not what they should be. Either of which would have unfortunate political repercussions.

"I understand father," Dorea said meekly, making sure to use the more formal mode of address since they were in public. "See you later Daphne."

Daphne glanced up at her own father imploringly and the man's lips twitched. "Far be it from me to stand between a young lady and her wardrobe," the sandy-haired Lord Greengrass said wryly, "but your uniforms _only_, Daphne. When you finally stop growing I'll let you buy everyday wear at Twilfitt's, but not before."

"Thank-you father," Daphne said demurely, eyes downcast and smirk triumphant.

Miss Tatting was politely delighted to have two young ladies in her shop purchasing Hogwarts' uniforms and soon had them selecting a finely woven, double-breasted, thick black tweed winter cloak lined with dark silk and a soft, lush black broadcloth material for their everyday robes. The saleswoman successfully persuaded them to buy five sets of uniform robes rather than the required three, pointing out that, after a messy Potions or Herbology class, they might like to change and the minimum uniform requirement did not cover such things. She also scoffed politely at the requirement for a hat, mentioning that nowadays it was rarely worn, but provided a variety of very attractive ones for them to chose from. Dorea picked a rather short hat with a fairly narrow brim and built-in Warming and Cooling charms that could be activated at the tap of a wand; Daphne picked a slightly taller and more dramatic hat. Miss Tatting then presented them with a selection of dragonhide gloves, pointing out how the differences in breed affected the material. She explained that yes, the Hebredian Black gloves were slightly sturdier than the Welsh Green ones, but it would not make a difference in a scholastic context and the skin of the Welsh Green was considerably more flexible, granting greater dexterity and reducing the chances of fumbling something. The Short-Snout gloves were considered the most attractive due to their silvery blue colouring, but as they would be used for rather menial tasks they were a tad over-ostentatious.

Both Daphne and Dorea bought the Welsh Green gloves in the end, though Daphne confided quietly that she suspected Pansy would buy Short-Snout gloves. Pansy, despite coming from an old pureblood family, lacked class. Draco was an embarrassment but he did at least have excellent taste.

After making them stand still for half an hour to have the robes properly fitted, Miss Tatting informed the two girls that their uniforms would be delivered to their homes in two days time and directed their fathers towards Mr Twilfitt to pay. That done Lord Black decided that wands were the next things to buy, because visiting a bookshop with Dorea had never taken less than two hours since she'd learned to read. Pouting slightly, Dorea walked hand-in-hand with Daphne to Ollivander's at the other end of the Alley.

* * *

><p>Dorea did not like the wand shop. It was too quiet, magic weighing down the air and sending shivers up and down her spine that contrasted unpleasantly with the slight sense of heat radiating from her forehead.<p>

Dorea's forehead was smooth and unscarred, but when Voldemort had attacked her and her mother's Ward had retaliated the cot the runes had been inscribed in had not been able to withstand the power channelled through it. This had resulted in the Ward attaching itself directly to Dorea rather than collapsing in on itself, the Sowilo rune that was its anchor and focus etching itself onto her skull in the centre of her forehead. It doing so had left a nasty burn on her skin, but proper healing had dealt with that easily enough and now the only way to see the mark indicating she was under an active Blood Ward was to use a very complicated and sensitive Diagnostic Charm.

She could feel the Ward whenever she did something dangerous though: its warmth danced under her skin like liquid sunshine when she duelled and practiced her swordplay, granting her additional strength and speed. The hidden rune also heated whenever Great-Aunt Cassiopeia used Legimency to prod her shields and Great-Aunt Lucretia had speculated that if anyone wishing Dorea ill attempted to invade her mind the Ward would repel them.

Her forehead was prickling now and she could sense the potential in this dingy, dusty room. Do something _exactly_ wrong in here and all of Diagon would be nothing but smoking rubble: unbounded wands could be rather volatile.

"Good afternoon." Dorea did not jump, she slid into a defensive stance and twisted around to see who was there. Daphne jumped, then after regaining her composure glanced at Dorea with a raised eyebrow. Dorea lidded her eyes briefly, causing Daphne's forehead to crease. Dorea suspected that her best friend would be demanding duelling lessons as a birthday present next year, particularly since, according to the newly-graduated Dora, Hogwarts Defence professors changed every year and ranged between 'moderately competent' and 'pretty hopeless'.

"Ah yes, Daphne Greengrass and Dorea Black," said the silver-eyed man who could only be Mr Ollivander. "I have been expecting you both." Then he glanced at the two adults. "Sirius Black. Twelve and a quarter inches, laurel and dragon heartstring, slightly springy; a shame about what happened to your previous wand, truly a shame, but it seems this one suits you just as well."

"It has been a delight, truly," Dorea's father said with a wry grin, "less playful than my last one but I find myself liking its reliability."

"Your first wand; spruce and dragon heartstring, eleven and three-quarter inches," Mr Ollivander smiled. "A right mischief-maker that one was: turned my tape measure into liquorice!"

Her father chuckled at the memory and the wand-maker turned to Daphne's father. "Reginald Greengrass: ten inches exactly, pine and unicorn hair. Rather inflexible; has it served you well?"

"It is a most excellent wand, Mr Ollivander," Lord Greengrass said warmly, "but enough of that: my daughter needs a wand."

"We shall begin with Miss Greengrass then," the wand maker said, prompting Dorea to retreat to the spindly chair in the corner.

It took fifteen minutes, but at the end Daphne was equipped with a ten inch wand of yew with a dragon heartstring core, which Mr Ollivander described as "rather springy; a potent combination. I'm sure you will go far with it. Yes, far indeed," which was slightly ominous. Yew had a bad reputation as a wand wood, being associated with powerful duelling skills and fierce, implacable witches and wizards.

"And now for Miss Black," Mr Ollivander said softly. "I do wonder who you will take after, my dear." The way he said that gave Dorea the distinct impression that the old man _knew_ she technically had three parents and was heir to two very different magical families. Potters were traditionally Gryffindors, but Dorea was pretty sure she was a born Slytherin.

"Let's start with ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on and give it a wave."

Dorea obligingly waved the wand, taking care not to point it towards anybody. The wand ignored her efforts entirely and Mr Ollivander snatched it back.

"Beech and dragon heartstring, nine inches. Nice and flexible," he pushed a new wand into her hand, but this, too was unresponsive.

"Hmm, try this: elm and phoenix feather, thirteen and a quarter inches." Dorea sensed _something_ then, but the wand maker snatched it back with a muttered "no, no, not right at all," and hurried off to find more wands.

It seemed in fact that there might not _be_ a suitable wand for her in the shop, given that nearly half an hour later Dorea was _still_ waving wands. Mr Ollivander seemed positively ecstatic at the challenge though and was smiling delightedly as he handed her wand after wand:

"Tricky customer eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match in here somewhere –I wonder– well why not –unusual combination– holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." A pale wand was thrust into her hands, elegant in its simplicity. As Dorea grasped it she felt the prickling heat in her forehead melt away entirely and deep, gentle warmth fill her body. Gently flicking the wand tip, she smiled as it produced a fountain of iridescent white-orange sparks. Both the other men cheered and Daphne applauded gently, her wide smile and shining eyes in stark contrast to her restrained behaviour.

"Oh, bravo! Yes indeed, very good. Well, well, well… how curious, how _very_ curious…" Mr Ollivander gently took the wand from Dorea and placed it in its box, then wrapped the box in brown paper, still lost in his musing and muttering about the oddity of the situation. Dorea glanced at him warily, but did not comment. It was her father who asked:

"What's so unusual about my daughter's wand?"

Mr Ollivander glanced up at him. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Black. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your daughter's wand gave another feather –just one other. I simply find it strange that your daughter should be destined for this wand when its brother –why, its brother belonged to the most feared wizard in recent history."

The name 'Voldemort' hung in the air like a corpse from a beam.

"Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Black. After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things –terrible yes, but great."

Holly was one of the rarer wand woods, ironically considered the complete opposite of yew by being protective and nurturing. It was also associated with quests, particularly of the spiritual kind. Dorea's favourite of the Family wands had been Grandpa's, eleven and three quarter inches and made of elm with dragon heartstring. It had liked her even before Grandpa died and he had actually willed it to her. Elm was associated with presence, dignity, magical dexterity and sophistication, making it popular among purebloods of a pretentious bent. To Dorea it was something of her grandfather that remained at her side, helping her even now he was gone, so she cherished it for that reason. It was a little difficult sometimes, but Dorea recognised that compared to Grandpa she was just a naïve child with a lot of maturing to do and that it would take time and dedication to truly master his wand.

* * *

><p>After Mr Ollivander's rather unnerving pronouncement her father paid the wand maker and hustled her out of the shop. Dorea was only too happy to leave behind those too-knowing silver eyes and bury her worries in books. Flourish and Blotts might have been the official supplier of Hogwarts textbooks, but it wasn't the only shop selling books. Those other shops were best left until later though, being less well-organised and having less room for people to stand about in. Sliding past other, older students and their families Dorea pulled Daphne away from the main shelves and back to where the more obscure and interesting books could be found. The manager had a soft spot for her, as she'd once tripped over a large stack of invisible books while trying to reach a rare tome on South American Blood Magic. Dorea had been rewarded for her unexpected discovery of over a hundred copies of <em>The Invisible Book of Invisibility<em> by a copy on the book itself, the rare book she'd been trying to reach and a lifetime discount on all purchases; apparently invisible books were very expensive and he'd been in trouble for losing them.

Away from the noisy crowds Dorea took a deep, cleansing breath and let her shoulders sag slightly as she met Daphne's eyes. "That was… unexpected," she volunteered.

Daphne nodded, eyes shadowed. "Holly has most un-Slytherin connotations," she said quietly.

"If I have no choice, then I have no choice," Dorea said pragmatically, "but that doesn't mean I'm not going to do things my way. Foolish heroics are a lifestyle choice I'm not inclined towards."

Daphne giggled for a moment them frowned. "Wherever Magic takes you Dorea, I'll be there with you. I swear." Her tone was as low and mannerly as ever, yet deadly serious. Dorea realised she had just received her first Pledge. Pledges were what held pureblood society together: members of lesser families made them to members of greater ones and the resulting alliance lasted a lifetime. The Greengrasses were almost as old and respected a family as the Blacks, but they were less infamous, less powerful and less affluent. Daphne had also pledged alliance rather than service, which was an important distinction. The Crabbe and Goyle families had Pledged to personally serve the Malfoy main family for generations now and it truly was service, though it meant the younger Crabbes and Goyles got to attend Hogwarts rather than one of the numerous minor Trade Schools. Pledges were _serious_.

"And Tracy will be right behind you too, I bet," Dorea added humorously, wanting to lighten the mood. She and Daphne were best friends, but Daphne and Tracy were a completely different kind of best friends that were more like sisters. Dorea was hoping to make more friends at Hogwarts because she always felt like she was missing something when she, Daphne and Tracy were all together. It was irrational, she knew, but persisted because Daphne and Tracy knew each-other much better than she knew either of them. Hopefully that would change.

Putting the matter out of her mind, Dorea followed her friend's example and began browsing the shelves. There _had_ to be a more interesting Charms book than the set school text here _somewhere_…


	11. Chapter 11

Beta'd by the kind InsaneScriptist.

October tenth is Xanxus' birthday, so I'm publishing this chapter as well as a bonus! This means that _two_ chapters have gone up today, so make sure you haven't missed reading chapter ten!

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><p><strong>Of preparation for departure<strong>

The six weeks between Dorea getting her Hogwarts letter and the beginning of her first school terms were intensely hectic. Thankfully all her classes and lessons other than duelling and swordplay had ended when she got the letter, though Dorea had managed to get her piano lessons continued until the ends of August and had been told by Miss Selwyn that Hogwarts did have a Music Room, so she was expected to keep up her practice.

Dorea spent most of her free time wandering around Black Manor to memorise everything for when she was away from home, sorting through her possessions to decide what would go to Hogwarts with her and repeatedly trawling through the Library in search of books to compliment her school texts and provide additional interest. She had decided that Ariadne Morgan's _Practical Charms for Busy Witches_ would complement _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade One)_, as what it covered was mostly the quick, time-saving and low-level Charms used in everyday life but not taught at school. A quick flick-through had revealed a variety of Cleaning Charms for different materials and substances, Repair Charms, Ironing Charms, Quill Charms and Finding Charms, among others. _Exercising you Imagination: Transfiguration Expanded_ by Hesperides Gamp was a proper textbook intended to build upon what the author called 'schoolboy transfiguration' and provided exercises, explanations and suggestions for what could be done, why and how at every step from total novice to NEWT student. It was in three volumes, so Dorea was only taking the first with her. _Animal Ingredients, Their Properties and Effects_ by Eusthenes Tripe had to come too, especially since _Magical Draughts and Potions_ didn't have _any_ of those useful details in and seemed to expect the reader to know them all already, as it didn't even give warnings on why care should be taken at specific points in brewing. Dorea suspected Mr Arsenius Jigger to be a Ravenclaw who, having memorised all that information, didn't see the need to include it in his work. _Magical Creatures, Their Behaviour and Habitats_ by Silas Griffin was coming too, being in all ways superior to Newt Scamander's work but less popular due to being considerably larger and wordier, as well as the controversial nature of some of his methods and findings. Dorea considered the text to be attractively scientific and methodical and didn't care that the author was Muggleborn. She had griffins in her garden and Griffin's chapter on them was supported by everything she'd observed herself.

_The Dark Arts: A Legal Compendium_ was coming too, so she could check what was illegal and what was just discouraged, as was _Self-Defensive Spellwork_ due to it being better written than the set Defence text. She was also bringing four different history texts since Hogwarts unfortunately seemed to consider Bathilda Bagshot's work the ultimate authority despite it only covering the past thousand years of British magical history and glossing over all of the nastier bits. _Ritual and the Right to Rule: Ancient Magical Societies and Their Customs_ had to come, as did _Power and Brutality: How Magic Shaped Medieval European Society_ because despite being obscure it covered in gory detail everything that had led up to the Statute of Secrecy being established worldwide. _Secrets of Hogwarts_ by Gasparde Montague had been written back in the eighteen fifties but Dorea considered it far superior to Bagshot's more recent _Hogwarts: A History_ since it contained a lot of nasty and suppressed stories of things that really shouldn't have been going on or that were culturally appropriate at the time but had since gone out of fashion, like all male students being expected to carry swords and attend physical combat classes, as well as a reasonably accurate map of the castle. Her last history book was Aquila Black's _Creature Wars_, which despite its occasionally crass Wizard-supremacist language was an almost contemporary chronicle of the various Goblin Rebellions and Giant Wars, accurately detailed and very engaging.

She was taking a few other books too, because from what her cousin Stephanie Oatley had told her there was a lot of free time built into the Hogwarts schedule and she wouldn't be able to go horse-riding in Scotland. _Symbol and Secret: The Power of the Written Word_ was coming since her Great-Aunt Lucretia had recommended it as the best book available on how Runes and other language-based rituals worked, as was _An Introduction to Scrying_, which Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had presented to her with a glint in her eye suggesting she learn it or else. Her other books were either fictional or historical biographies rather than reference books: Chinese fairytales in Chinese, some classical Italian literature –Dorea rather liked _Il Decamerone_ so long as she could limit herself to only reading a bit at a time– a few French historical novels, a compendium of Russian fairytales and a variety of books written in English.

She wasn't just taking extra books though. Daphne had already helped her pick out clothing that wouldn't have her peers staring due to how old-fashioned they were and sifted through her Muggle clothing as well. Dorea had also packed her art supplies, her sheet music –Miss Selwyn _had_ said there was a piano, though she would have to find it first– her writing case and her radio, which Papa had magically modified to pick up Muggle stations as well as Wizarding ones. She wouldn't be packing her half-armour and duelling kit until after her last lesson with Mr Rookwood, but that was going in as well. So was her embroidery, her battered toy hippogriff that Grandpa had given her the day he first met her and a variety of other odds and ends like her night-light, her mokeskin purse, her personal jewel box –containing only items Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had deemed 'suitable for a girl of her age' which excluded almost everything she'd inherited from Grandma Irma– and the communication mirror Papa had dug out of storage for her so she could get hold of him in emergencies.

Accompanying her to Hogwarts was Moros, one of the younger members of the great grey owl dynasty that had inhabited the Black Manor Owlery since Caelum Black's seventeenth century breeding experiment had given them sentience comparable with the estate's griffins, some kind of divination ability and a rather startling resistance to spells. The breeding population was far larger than the eight birds currently in residence and according to family records now stretched out across a good chunk of northern Europe and Russia, but if any Black of the main family needed to deliver a letter then an Omen Owl would present themselves to carry it. Moros had clearly decided that delivering Dorea's mail was now his prerogative and that was that; any other owl bought for that purpose would be summarily slain. Had Omen Owls been recognised by the Ministry they would have been classified as dangerous and requiring specialist knowledge to approach, but they were a secret restricted to the Lord Black and his closest associates so nobody else knew that category four creatures were being used by the Family to deliver post. It had the benefit that nobody ever survived attempting to tamper with Black mail, which was why Caulum had done it in the first place.

When not packing, exploring or browsing the library Dorea spent time with her numerous Muggle-raised cousins listening to stories about Hogwarts and its denizens from a Slytherin and Ravenclaw viewpoint, riding Lark as much as possible and reassuring Moppet that she wasn't a failure as a house-elf just because she couldn't come to Hogwarts to take care of her 'Mistress Dorea'. Dorea eventually charged Moppet with keeping her suite clean, airing her clothes regularly, taking care of the puffskeins and anything else that Lurcher felt needed doing, in addition to keeping an eye on Papa and making sure he and her other relatives looked after themselves, which seemed to satisfy to poor creature.

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><p>Dorea's birthday came at the front end of this scramble and was far better attended than any previous birthdays. Grandpa, Papa and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia did not organise the kind of birthday parties her Muggle-raised cousins told her about, but nor did they simply acknowledge the occasion with gifts as was more usual among Wizards. Instead, ever since she'd been introduced to her cousins on Great-Uncle Marius' side of the family, on her birthday Grandpa had opened Black Manor to friends and relatives, had the house-elves lay out a series of lavish buffets in various locations and welcomed everyone he considered Family or a respected ally to come and wish his great-granddaughter a happy birthday. As a result, ever since she'd turned five her birthdays had been major events and been the sight of many a family quarrel or grand fight. Lord Malfoy hadn't come since her eighth birthday, where he'd unwisely made a rude comment about Great-Aunt Cedrella's husband Septimus in said lady's hearing and been promptly turned into cream-coloured spaniel. Great-Uncle Cygnus <em>never<em> came because Auntie Andy and Dora _always_ came, Neville hadn't come last year due to her cursing of his Great-Uncle Algie, but his birthday was the day before hers and he was probably doing something with his family anyway. Since befriending Daphne and attending group dance lessons most of those girls had started attending her birthday parties as well, which was a bit trying really but had to be accepted even though Pansy was always rude to her Muggle-raised cousins when she thought Dorea was out of earshot. She'd gotten progressively less rude as said cousins had started attending Hogwarts –especially after Dawn, Deborah and later Stephanie had been Sorted into Slytherin– but she was still snide and dismissive about them being squib-born. Dorea hoped her older cousins –two of whom had graduated this year along with Dora– would be coming and had even invited Mr Rookwood and Avery. She wasn't sure if they'd show, but she knew Miss Selwyn would because Miss Selwyn was a bit of a snob and had been thrilled at an opportunity to make so many potentially advantageous connections and possibly acquire new students.

Because her birthdays inevitably involved all manner of riotous behaviour, the house-elves packed away everything that might get broken, sealed up all the private rooms and ensured no paperwork of any kind was accessible. Dorea got family gifts over breakfast, well before the rest of the guests were welcomed into the house at eleven, so she had time to get them all to safety before she had to play gracious hostess.

This year being her eleventh birthday, Dorea suspected she'd get a lot of school-related presents. She also suspected that, as she'd met numerous boys her age at dance class since the spring, a lot of pure-blood parents would be bringing their sons along so as to improve their chances of catching her eye. Which was a bit creepy really but very traditional, so she put up with it. It had the added advantage of letting her get to know people before she spent most of a year with them at school, which she liked the idea of. She'd sent an invitation to the Weasley twins as an apology for half-drowning them back in January –specifying that semi-formal wear was required– and additional invitations to William Weasley –now working for Gringotts as a curse-breaker– and Charles Weasley –who had graduated with Dora and was her friend– so that their mother could be reassured that an adult close relative would be on hand if necessary. She'd added a letter explaining that, considering a great many of the other adult guests were not on good terms with Arthur Weasley, she didn't think he or his wife would want to attend but that they were welcome to stop by if they so chose. The letter she got back indicated that they did not so choose, but that Bill might be there with the twins. Providing Fred and George behaved themselves and didn't get grounded beforehand.

* * *

><p>Her birthday dawned bright and clear, promising to get very hot later in the day, which was a relief since on sunny birthdays a lot of the guests wandered about the gardens and grounds, making it less likely for those who did not get along to meet each-other in an enclosed area. Dorea dressed in the new blood red princess-line dress robe laid out for her and the matching slippers, carefully brushed her hair and had Moppet help her fasten it up in a loose bun with garnet-topped pins, put in her garnet drop earrings and went downstairs for breakfast.<p>

To her glee, breakfast was pancakes and Marius and _all_ his children and grandchildren had already arrived. Dorea hugged her Great-Aunt Honora –who at nearly seventy was still going strong and had adapted magnificently to discovering her husband's magical heritage– was kissed by all her aunts including Aunt Antoinette, whom she'd only met once before due to her and her husband Uncle Eduard living in France. Aunt Antoinette was a witch: both Martin and Morgane, hers and Uncle Eduard's children, had attended and graduated from Beaubatons. Dorea had not met either of her eldest cousins before, so she was very curious about twenty-three-year-old Martin and his very pretty part-Veela wife Leonie, as well as nineteen-year-old Morgane, whose fiancé Jean-Yves seemed as nervous about being introduced to the head of his beloved's family as he was elated. What Dorea found odd was that her French relatives spelled their surname as 'Blac', which meant 'pale' or 'white'. However introductions were soon out of the way and the extended family –twenty-six including Papa, Great-Aunt Cassiopeia and Dorea herself– was all seated in the Dining Room for breakfast, which involved a lot of friendly conversation, good-natured teasing and a rousing chorus of 'Happy Birthday'.

Dorea's birthday presents varied from fashionable Wizarding and Muggle clothing –from her female British cousins and aunts– to classical Muggle literature –Great-Aunt Honora– and some very stylish silver jewellery –her French cousins and cousins-in-law. Her boy cousins had mostly given her sweets, with the exception of Donald, the only squib of his generation, who gave her a book on modern motorcycle engineering. Donald was twenty-one, had just graduated from University and already had a job with Triumph Motorcycles which he was very proud of. Partly because Papa so obviously approved of his career choice and was happy to talk motorbikes with him at the drop of a hat. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had given her a silver scrying bowl and Papa had bought her a tea set and enchanted it for her himself, which was very thoughtful of him since Dorea genuinely disliked pumpkin juice and hadn't been looking forward to only being allowed to drink water at Hogwarts.

After breakfast the adults congregated in the various ground-floor parlours, smoking rooms and on the terrace while Dorea's underage cousins scattered across the grounds: Patricia and Stephanie to the stables to coo over the winged horses; Dawn to the small ground-floor library stocked with reasonably innocuous texts Charmed so they couldn't be taken out of the room; Gregory to the Quiddich Pitch as he had apparently promised to teach Anthony to fly; and Deborah to the gardens with her watercolours and a blanket to sit on so as not to stain her robes. Dorea of course had to stay in the house to welcome her guests and wouldn't be allowed to wander until after lunch.

The first guests to arrive were Great-Aunt Lucretia and Great-Uncle Ignatius, followed by the Greengrasses, the Davieses and Aunt Narcissa, Draco and Draco's grandfather Abraxas Malfoy. After their moderately staggered arrivals everyone else started showing up at once and Dorea's head was soon whirling with new names and faces, keeping her wits about her and trying to say relevant and polite things to all the politically-minded people who were angling for an advantage. By one in the afternoon Black Manor and its grounds probably contained an eighth of all the Wizard-born children in Britain and at least a tenth of the adults. Some of the last to arrive were William 'Call me Bill' Weasley and his younger twin brothers, all wearing smart new dress robes, followed five minutes later by their brother Charlie, who apologised self-deprecatingly for his tardiness, explaining that he'd been applying for a job at a Dragon Reserve and lost track of time. Dorea had smiled forgivingly and directed him to the Long Gallery, where a number of wizards with dragon-related business interests had struck up a conversation at the Western end. Charlie had brightened and promptly vanished, much to the amusement of his siblings.

The last guests to enter before the Floo was closed at half-past one were Mr Rookwood, a petite, thin and rather stressed lady whom he introduced as his niece –a Mrs Venetia Avery– and her two children: Audric whom she already knew and Arietta, his nine-year-old sister. Dorea was able to mentally place Audric then as the nephew of Allard Avery, who had been a Death Eater during the War and avoided a prison sentence by pleading the Imperius. Audric's grandfather Antonious Avery had died in Voldemort's service about five years before Dorea had even been born, but he had –according to Great-Aunt Lucretia– been one of the Dark Lord's closest associates.

Dorea did not let any of this colour her treatment of Venetia Avery née Rookwood or her children: she simply greeted them politely, informed Audric both of the small Quidditch tournament taking place and of various of his year-mates wandering the grounds then offered to introduce Arietta to Astoria Greengrass, who was about her age and likely admiring the Aethonians in the stables. Mr Rookwood had smirked at her as Audric excused himself and Mrs Avery smiled tenuously and agreed to Dorea's suggestion, then the older man departed abruptly to seek out his own peers.

Upon reaching the stables Dorea was besieged by hopeful girls and a few young boys all wanting to ride the magnificent winged horses, so she summoned two of Mr Stewart's grown sons to organise short rides around the paddock on Dana, who being old, steady and very gentle was by far the safest Aethonian for beginners and children; her Lark was a bit of a handful in comparison. Escaping shortly after, Dorea sought out one of the many buffet tables scattered across the gardens and loaded up a plate, then wandered around observing her guests and their interactions and occasionally being drawn into conversation.

While wandering around and tracking down the various individuals she was concerned might be a problem Dorea saw all kinds of interesting sights, prompting her to get Moppet to fetch a camera. As it was a nice sunny day no flash was required, enabling her to capture various moments forever. These moments included: Draco Malfoy speechless at being insulted by a Jarvey and Theodore Nott standing behind him, trying desperately not to laugh; Hannah Abbot making daisy-chains with the eight-year-old Carrow twins and Lavender Brown; her cousin Richard Oatley kissing her other cousin Dora Tonks in one of the bowers; Tracy's older brother Roger sitting halfway up a tree in his rumpled dress robes, reading a book; and most amusingly, Audric Avery sitting next to her cousin Deborah as she painted the rose garden and actually managing to hold Deborah's attention for a few moments at a time. Well, that _did_ partly explain why the fourteen-year-old was making such an effort to cultivate Dorea's acquaintance…

* * *

><p>By the end of the day Dorea was exhausted, having made more polite conversation than could possibly be good for her, diffused several arguments, intervened in three separate fights to prevent wands from being drawn, dealt with the aftermath of four actual fights no matter how short they had been and had to coax Boreas, one of the Estate's hippogriffs –which inevitably resulted when breeding winged horses in proximity to griffins– away from one of the buffet tables with dead rabbits provided by Wispy. She'd had an audience for that, which had made things tricky but Boreas was good-natured by hippogriff standards and hadn't charged anyone. Both Weasley twins had been in the audience and had approached her afterwards to assure her that no pranks had been played at her party, no matter how much of a wrench it had been for them to contain themselves. Dorea had thanked them prettily and solemnly if smilingly informed them that playing pranks at other peoples' parties was <em>rude<em>, and that if they had been rude she would have let Boreas savage them. It had been a joke and both twins had laughed, but they'd also cast wary glances at the massive hippogriff as he churred and preened under her petting. It was nice to meet Gryffindors with actual survival instincts.

Due to all the guests Dorea didn't get a chance to open any presents until the following day, when every gift had to be examined for curses or traps by a capable adult relative, opened and admired and then a letter of thanks composed to whoever had given it to her. It was a very long job and took her half of the following week, by which point her photos had been developed in the appropriate potion and copies secreted in a variety of locations depending on the subject matter. Papa found what he called her 'blackmail habit' to be hilarious despite featuring prominently in several of the pictures. Dorea also sent copies of most of the pictures to the people who featured in them, which to her was just politeness but amused her father even more and always made Great-Aunt Cassiopeia smile. Draco did not get a picture of his verbal defeat by Jarvey –he wouldn't appreciate it– but she sent Theodore Nott a copy with the letter thanking him and his father for the Nundu skin rug they had given her. She did wonder how the Notts had come by such an unusual item though.

After her birthday and recovering from its inevitable aftermath, which always kept the gossips entertained for most of the following month, Dorea was startled to realise that she had barely a week until she would be taking the train from platform nine-and-three-quarters.


	12. Chapter 12

Beta'd by the lovely InsaneScriptist.

I put up two chapters yesterday, so make sure you didn't miss one of them!

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><p><strong>Of departure and transition<strong>

Four days before Dorea was due to take the Hogwarts Express for the first time, her father and Great-Aunt Lucretia sat her down for a long, detailed talk about the precise nature of her family background, what had happened on the Halloween her mother and Uncle James had died and everything Great-Aunt Lucretia had found out about the Blood Ward protecting her, both from Lily Potter's notes and her great-aunt's own observations.

It was a somewhat protracted talk and had involved quite a lot of slightly confusing information about various types of ancient ritual magic, but Dorea had managed to boil it down thusly:

Uncle James couldn't have children due to a potions mishap at school, so if any of Dorea's potions exploded or vaporised she was to go directly to Madam Pomphrey, because that kind of thing happening to her would be bad.

Father had brewed a special potion so that he and Lily Potter could have a child without her mother breaking her marriage vows; that potion was highly illegal to use unless you were married to the man who you intended to get pregnant by, but having the express permission of the man in question if you weren't married also made it almost-legal. The book with the instructions in was in the Black Library and Dorea wasn't allowed to look at it until she'd reached her majority.

Once Lily Potter was pregnant, Uncle James had used her as the focus of a Line Adoption Ritual, meaning that both Lily and the unborn Dorea had from than onwards been legally and magically part of the Potter family. This technically cancelled out her mother's status as a Muggleborn, making her a half-blood instead and Uncle James' sort-of cousin. This was how Dorea had inherited both Potter and Black Family Magic, in addition to Parsletongue which might have come from her mother's apparently Muggle –but probably squib– heritage. Sirius had never seen her mother interact with a snake –Lily Evans hadn't taken Care at Hogwarts– so she might have always been able to speak Parsletongue and never realised it.

Shortly after Dorea had been born Lily had created the Blood Ward from a variety of references and examples in books from the Potter Library, which Dorea would be allowed to read only after completing a Runes OWL. Both Uncle James and her mother had died within the Ward's effective 'range', Uncle James on the outskirts and Mother well within the inner focus. According to Great-Aunt Lucretia this meant that _both_ the Potters' deaths and magical power had been absorbed by the Ward as their souls passed on. Uncle James' death had simply given the Ward strength, while her mother's death within the Ward's focal range had given the Ward a degree of sentience and a 'template' through which to retaliate at attackers. This was what had killed Voldemort: sensing his ill-intentions and the Killing Curse he had pointed at Dorea, the Ward had deflected the spell before lashing out and incinerating the Dark Wizard. Dorea had not been touched by Voldemort's spell, but the force which the Ward contained by then was too much for the simple wooden cot it had been carved into so it had re-anchored itself on Dorea herself, in order to continue protecting her.

There was a very nebulous prophecy that both Dumbledore and Voldemort seemed to think applied to her, but clearly did not due to a large number of inconsistencies. Mainly that the prophecy referred to a 'him' rather than a 'her' and that 'the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal' when Dorea was very obviously unmarked other than by her mother's Ward. It was most likely, Papa said briskly, that the prophecy referred to a Dark Lord yet to even be born or that it was no longer valid. As everybody had free will, prophecies could be thwarted and ignored: they only told you what would happen if a specific path was taken. Dorea was to completely ignore the stupid thing and leave the thwarting of Voldemort to the adults.

Lastly, Voldemort, while dead, wasn't gone. He'd used forbidden, blasphemous magic to anchor himself to the physical world and Dorea was to be wary of anyone or anything that made her Ward react by itself, as it was most likely connected to the Dark Lord who had 'imprinted' himself on the Ward as it gained sentience and therefore the only person it currently recognised as a definite enemy, though if anyone attacked her body, magic or mind with clear murderous intent that would change. If the Ward did react without clear provocation Dorea was to contact her father by mirror at the earliest opportunity so he could deal with the situation himself. Voldemort's real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, so she was to keep an eye out for that name while at Hogwarts and let Papa know if it came up anywhere so he could investigate.

After getting her head around all this Dorea pushed it all to the back of her mind, judging it irrelevant to her upcoming school year even though Hogwarts was nowhere near as safe as Dumbledore's supporters claimed it was, if _Secrets of Hogwarts_ was to be believed: a great many dangerous items were probably still where they'd been left after going out of fashion or being damaged. The School likely had rooms full.

* * *

><p>September 1st dawned bright if rather chilly and Dorea was up as early as she usually was on Christmas morning to double-check that she'd packed everything, dress carefully in the outfit she'd decided to wear on the train and make sure that one of her new school uniforms was neatly folded in her equally new leather shoulder bag with its Extension and Feather-light Charms. Once dressed in a champagne-coloured silk blouse, pleated dark green tartan knee-length skirt, black tights and buckled shoes Dorea looked out of the window and, considering the likelihood of it being cold, also put on a dark blue knitted cardigan. Now fully ready for the coming day, Dorea was brought up short by the fact it was not yet six o' clock in the morning and breakfast wouldn't be for another hour and a half. Being too excited to read a book, she instead changed out of her skirt into riding jodhpurs and quietly snuck down to the stables, where ones of the Stewarts was tending to the Aethonians. He seemed more amused than anything else by her request to go riding at the crack of dawn and agreeably had Lark saddled for her.<p>

At half-past seven Dorea skipped into the Breakfast Room still in her riding gear, red-cheeked from wind burn and completely ravenous. Papa of course teased her for her eagerness but Great-Aunt Cassiopeia praised her for 'making good use of her time', which was only slightly dampened by the reprimand to not gobble her food. After a hearty meal of porridge, tea and toast and marmalade Dorea changed back into her skirt, brushed and neatly rebraided her hair and had Moppet transfer her trunk downstairs. Then she stopped by the kitchens for the pack lunch Tansy had prepared for her –a good-sized picnic hamper that only just fitted into her shoulder bag– and hug all the house-elves currently in residence including Kreacher, who was very odd and really didn't get along with her father at all. He was usually responsible for keeping The Planetarium and the townhouse on Grimmauld Place clean, so she usually only saw him in passing every month or so. He'd appeared to help her with her packing and commented that her school-books had previously belonged to 'Master Regulus', but had seemed pleased by that fact rather than offended. Dorea knew that Papa and Kreacher had a history due to Kreacher having been Grandmother Walburga's personal elf and that Kreacher's orders from her father amounted to 'keep busy and out of my sight', which the skinny old elf abided by religiously and without complaint.

Having said goodbye to the elves Dorea put on her dark grey mackintosh and bounced impatiently around the Front Hall, much to the amusement of the portraits, until her father and great-aunt arrived. Papa then tapped her trunk with his wand and moved it out of the front door and down the steps into the back of the waiting Jaguar XJ6, which was the car her father drove her places in if they were going on a father-daughter expedition that required smart clothes like going to the ballet. Papa had been firm that taking his daughter to catch the train to school was _not_ something that required a chauffeur, being a private family activity, so he would be driving. He had his Muggle driving licence for a _reason_. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had once asked dryly if that reason had been to shock his fellow wizards, which had made Papa chuckle sheepishly. When it was just her and her father going out Droea got to sit in the front, but as this was a group outing with Great-Aunt Cassiopeia Dorea would be sitting in the back, as her great-aunt disapproved of sitting in the front unless you were driving.

After parking the Jaguar in one of the discreetly placed Wizarding car parks that the Ministry opened specially on days when Hogwarts students would be travelling to and from Kings Cross, Dorea gripped her father's hand tightly as he pushed the trolley loaded up with her trunk, Moros perched on top of it under a Concealment Charm so Muggles wouldn't notice the two foot four great grey owl glaring disapprovingly at them. No Black would ever dream of putting an Omen Owl in a cage, as it was disrespectful and –more prosaically– the only Black to ever attempt it had needed to go to Saint Mungos to have his arms reattached. Since then the Blacks had firmly classed their owls as family retainers rather than pets, thus obviating the need for a cage. Dorea was therefore officially lacking a pet according to the Hogwarts School Rules, as Moros belonged to her family rather than being personal property.

Upon reaching the barrier that separated the Muggle station from platform nine and three quarters, Papa allowed her to take control of the trolley and stepped back to take Great-Aunt Cassiopeia's arm. Taking a deep breath, Dorea firmly pushed the loaded trolley –which was lighter than it looked due to the properties of her chosen school trunk– through the barrier and onto the platform beyond. As it was barely nine in the morning the platform was mostly empty, with only a few older students travelling alone and a few knots of less well-off families, whose parents would be hurrying on to work after dropping off their children for school. But what caught Dorea's eye were the gleaming scarlet steam locomotive and equally gleaming and scarlet train carriages that filled the track beside the platform from end to end.

"Well darling, this is it!" Papa said, coming up behind her and gently steering her onwards away from the platform entrance. "You're off to school and I won't be seeing you until Christmas." He looked rather melancholy at the prospect. "Be sure to write to your aging father and let him know what you're getting up to, won't you Dorry-dear?"

Dorea turned and hugged her father around the middle, mumbling "It's _Dorea_, Papa," into his chest. She felt him chuckle as he hugged her back then pulled her away so he could look her in the eyes.

"While your behaviour and grades _do_ matter, sweetie, want I want most of all is for you to make new friends, have fun and not get hurt. Can you do that for me, Dorea Rosamund?"

Recognising that this was important to Papa, Dorea nodded solemnly. "I'll do my best," she promised.

"Good girl." Papa hugged her again then set her free to hug Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, who was looking distinctly teary.

"I have no doubt that you will perform admirably at school," her great-aunt said with a fond smile, "so go and be great!"

Dorea nodded and hugged her great-aunt again before letting father lead her up the platform away from most of the other children and load her trunk into a compartment for her. "Once your older cousins get here they'll come looking for you, since I told Marius I'd be bringing you here early. You'll probably want to share your compartment with other people your age though, so look out for Daphne and the others."

"I will Papa," Dorea agreed, feeling slightly exasperated. She wasn't a baby and was well on her way to being a fully grown lady!

Her father seemed to divine the direction of her thoughts and bent down to kiss her forehead. "That's my girl," he whispered, quietly producing a bundle from under his coat and slipping it into her shoulder bag. "Your Uncle James had this from his first year, so I'm guessing that taking it to school is a Potter family tradition. Don't let your great-aunt know and don't get caught, okay?"

Dorea realised that she'd just been given the heirloom invisibility cloak and had to cover her mouth with her hand to prevent giggles from spilling out.

"Right," Papa said with a grin, "I think that's everything. Remember to have fun and not to get caught!" He scooped her up for one last hug then got off the train to rejoin Great-Aunt Cassie on the platform. Settling herself on the backward-facing seat nearest the window, Dorea unbuttoned her coat, removed the picnic hamper from her bag and slid it under her seat then got out the Runes book Great-Aunt Lucretia had given her and settled in to read until more people showed up, taking a moment to wave goodbye to her father and great-aunt as they left the platform.

* * *

><p>Her Muggle-raised cousins arrived in a pack at a quarter to ten, overseen by Aunt Ophelia. Dorea spotted them not long after they passed through the barrier and set her book aside so she could lean out of the window and wave to catch their attention. At first they didn't seem to notice, then Gregory turned his head in her direction and all five of them dashed over to her carriage and started loading their trunks into the compartments on either side of hers.<p>

"You'll want your own friends in with you," Patricia, the eldest, said matter-of-factly, "but there's no reason for us not to be nearby just in case anybody thinks they can be nasty because you're a first year and haven't learned any spells yet. Well, haven't _officially_ learnt any spells," the fifth-year Ravenclaw amended, eyes glinting in amusement. "You _are_ a Black, after all." Patricia ended up in the compartment ahead of Dorea's with Deborah and Dawn, while Stephanie and Gregory settled in the compartment behind. Feeling rather more secure of herself now that a family safety-net was in place, Dorea went back to her reading but was interrupted barely ten minutes later by Daphne and Tracy's arrival.

"I see you've found a nice compartment for us," the honey-blonde Greengrass said pleasantly as an obliging Gregory loaded her trunk into the overhead racks. Her cousin was something of a gentleman once he'd been torn away from his books. "Near enough the front to be quiet, too."

"Did you see anyone else we know on the platform?" Dorea asked, giving up on reading for the time being and nodding politely at Tracy as the chestnut-haired girl took off her coat.

"Draco and his thugs, unfortunately," Daphne sighed, "but he was too busy being coddled to notice me walking past. I also saw Millicent Bulstrode; she's even taller than you are now."

Dorea had been the tallest girl in their age-group since she was eight, despite also being the youngest. She wasn't too surprised to hear that Millicent had overtaken her there though, as Millie was chunkily built and both her parents were tall. Unfortunately Millie was very defensive about her looks and loathed both Daphne and Dorea pretty much on principle for the unforgivable crime of being daintier than she was. She wasn't openly rude like Pansy was, but she wasn't their friend either. Millie didn't really seem to have friends, though Great-Aunt Cassiopeia was friends with her grandmother. Dorea thought it had something to do with the Bulstrode family having lost influence during the Voldemort War despite none of its members being convicted Death Eaters in addition to Millie's mother being the daughter of a squib and a Muggle. Nobody was ever going to insult Otrera Bulstrode née Belby to her face –the woman was tall, forceful and utterly terrifying– but Pansy made snide comments when she knew Millie was within hearing. Dorea privately hoped Millie would grow up to be as statuesque and curvy as her mother, just to spite Pansy and put the nasty girl's squashed-looking nose out of joint.

"Anyone else?" She asked, turning to Tracy to see if she'd spotted someone different.

"I saw Susan Bones' parents, so she's probably on the train somewhere," Tracy said easily, "as well as Lavender and Lisa: I saw their parents too. I also spotted that stuck-up toad Zacharias Smith, who hopefully will prove too overtly obnoxious for Slytherin."

"I don't know Tracy," Daphne said as she settled down next to Dorea, "Draco's probably going to be in Slytherin and he's just as unsubtle as Smith is."

"Eurgh," Tracy grimaced, "don't remind me."

"They seem to try and divide the students evenly between the houses though," Dorea pointed out, "so considering that Draco, Crabbe and Goyle are likely to all be in Slytherin together, there are only two or three more spots left and Nott's going to take one of those."

"True," Daphne conceded, "though I heard that Madame Zabini's son will be attending Hogwarts this year. He might be in Slytherin, considering."

Madame Zabini was an Italian witch who had gained notoriety in the past decade by having remarried four times and each of those husbands dying within the year and leaving her all their money; the last husband had died barely three months ago. Her son Blaise was an only child and the child of her first husband –who had been murdered under suspicious circumstances shortly after the end of the War– but bore her surname due to Angelique Zabini being her father's only heir. The Zabinis were a fairly prominent Italian family, but Madame Zabini's first husband had been British or had at least lived in Britain. Not much was known about him because Madame Zabini had only become a focus for gossip after her second husband's peculiar demise and a lot of people had been killed in the chaos following Voldemort's defeat.

As time ticked onward Dorea, Daphne and Tracy were joined in their compartment by Lisa Turpin, Sally-Anne Perks and eventually Neville Longbottom, who was unfortunate enough to have a toad for a pet. The toad escaped even as a passing Ravenclaw prefect helped the Longbottom heir get his trunk into the racks, which was probably a smart move on the toad's part as the compartment by then contained two cats and three owls, of which Moros and Lisa's conniving-looking Siamese were not in cages or baskets. Neville wanted to go looking for his toad at once, but Dorea managed to persuade him to wait until the train was moving, as by them most people would be sitting in the compartments and it would be easier to move about. She then introduced her very nervous cousin to the other girls sitting with her, all of whom displayed the appropriate pureblood manners which seemed to put Neville slightly more at ease. Lisa, having heard about Neville from Dorea and being interested in Herbology herself, started up a conversation with him about the care of fanged geraniums and the two were soon engrossed. So engrossed, in fact, that Neville didn't notice the whistle being blown and the train starting to move as the station clock struck eleven.

* * *

><p>Neville was still happily discussing plants with Lisa half an hour later as Tracy, Daphne and Sally-Anne chatted about fashion and Dorea tried to follow both conversations at once when the compartment door opened and all the conversations abruptly ground to a halt due to the presence of three very large boys in Slytherin uniform blocking the doorway. Dorea recognised the middle one at once and rose to her feet, setting her book aside again.<p>

"Avery." The compartment somehow went even quieter and Neville paled abruptly. Avery ignored the younger boy entirely, his eyes fixed on Dorea.

"Black," he said shortly, "this is Pucey," he waved a hand at the solid, broad-shouldered teen to his left, "and Higgs." Higgs was the same height as Pucey but long and lanky rather than stocky with a thinner face and rather blonder hair. "They're third years; I've got my OWLs this year so unless it's urgent you let them know rather than me, got it?"

Dorea then realised that Avery was making an effort to take his responsibilities as her swordsmanship tutor seriously and smiled. "Thank-you Avery," she said sincerely. Avery huffed, neck going slightly pink.

"Yeah, right. Now that's dealt with I'll leave you to it." He closed the compartment door again, leaving Dorea to be scrutinised by five wide pairs of eyes.

"You have Alan Avery's son looking out for you?" Daphne said after a brief pause. "How on _earth_ did that happen? And when, pray tell, did you meet him?!"

"He's related to one of my tutors," Dorea said truthfully if deliberately vaguely, "who all but ordered him to keep an eye on me. I also think Avery fancies my cousin Deborah."

"Ah," Daphne settled back down again, her curiosity satisfied and her Slytherin instincts quieted. Avery clearly had an agenda, but now that agenda was revealed and proven relatively innocuous Daphne could leave it alone.

"My brother Roger says Pucey and Higgs are on the Slytherin Quidditch team," Tracy volunteered and the conversation picked up again, this time on the subject of sports, which continued until a witch pushing a trolley loaded with sweets opened the door to see if they wanted to buy anything.

Dorea, having a hamper full of home-made goodies, didn't buy anything, but Sally-Anne bought a box of chocolate frogs, Lisa bought cauldron cakes and liquorice wands and Tracy bought half-a-dozen pumpkin pasties to share, as it was lunchtime and seeing all those sweets reminded everyone in the compartment that they were hungry. Neville didn't buy anything but produced a packed lunchbox from his bag and between the six of them they managed to eat just about all of the food. After lunch Neville remembered his toad again and bravely went looking for it, despite being very obviously aware of how much he'd get laughed at for having such an unfashionable pet. It was a very Gryffindor thing to do, but in a sweet way. None of the girls went with him; Dorea because she'd promised her cousins she'd stay put and the other girls because toads were icky and while they'd doubtless have to handle icky things in class there was no reason to do so unnecessarily. Dorea did promise to look after his things for him and they all wished him good luck, despite it being rather obvious that Daphne, Tracy and Sally-Anne would all much prefer the toad not be found.

Lisa had settled down with her nose in a book and Sally-Anne and Tracy were talking about the latest Weird Sisters release while Daphne watched the countryside go by when the door opened again to reveal the Weasley twins.

"Dearest Dorea!" said the one she was pretty sure was Fred. "We'd wondered where you were."

"And here you are," added George. "What House are you planning on being in?"

"Slytherin," Dorea said matter-of-factly, eyeballing them warily over the top of _Practical Charms for Busy Witches_.

"Alas," said George dramatically, "it seems we will have to go lightly on the Snakes this year."

"Don't want to hit Darling Dorea by accident," Fred agreed; "she might drown us in the lake."

"Or break into Gryffindor tower and smother us in our sleep."

"Or push us off the moving stairs."

"Or tie us up in the Forbidden Forest for the monsters to eat."

Dorea twitched, caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement. "I'm more likely to let Moros savage you right now," she said, tilting her head towards the massive owl perched on the table who was giving the twins the evil eye. "I don't think he'd need much encouragement."

The Omen Owl made a deep, growling sound.

"And on that note–" Fred said brightly,

"–Adieu!" George finished, quickly closing the door as Moros flexed his wings aggressively.

This perplexing encounter was not discussed, Dorea and Lisa going back to their books as the other girls resumed their conversation.

Another hour later the compartment door was pulled open to reveal Neville and a girl in Muggle clothing with distressingly bushy hair and slightly large front teeth. "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one." Her tone was rather bossy and it was pretty clear that Neville had tried to get her to avoid this compartment, based on the pained look on his face.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "This is Neville's original compartment," she said dryly. "If the toad was here he wouldn't be looking for it."

The girl flushed, then happened to notice that Dorea was absent-mindedly practicing wand movements as she read. "Is that a text book? It wasn't on the list. I did buy some books that weren't on the list for background reading of course, since I'm the first person with magic in my family and getting the letter was such a surprise. I mean, it's the best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard –I've learnt my textbooks of by heart, of course, I just hope that will be enough– I'm Hermione Granger by the way, who are you?" She said all this very fast.

Daphne's eyebrow drifted higher in the face of such forwardness and clear obliviousness of proper etiquette, then glanced at Dorea, who as the person of highest social standing present had the most right to be offended.

"Did you buy any books on Wizarding Culture?" Dorea asked mildly, setting her book aside.

Hermione Granger blinked. "No, I mean, we're still in Britain aren't we, so why should the culture be different?"

Sally-Anne giggled as the other girls in the compartment exchanged glances.

"Wizarding society has been completely separate from Muggle society since 1692," Dorea said, voice still mild, "which is nearly three hundred years and almost as long as the United States of America have been independent from Great Britain. Is Muggle American culture the same as Muggle British culture, Granger?"

The girl flushed. "No," she muttered resentfully, "it isn't."

"I can recommend you some helpful books on etiquette if you wish," Dorea went on, "and I do suggest you read them, as the manner in which you introduced yourself was quite breathtakingly rude and most Hogwarts students are the Magical equivalent of the Muggle peerage."

Miss Granger's eyes widened. "But, what?!"

Dorea sighed. "Of all the magical children in the country, Hogwarts accepts only the ones of the most powerful, influential, wealthy and long-standing families in addition to a selection of Muggleborns," she explained calmly. "Those Muggleborns are selected for their wealth, academic excellence and political connections: only a fifth of every Hogwarts year is Muggleborn –which is the minimum required by Hogwarts bylaws– and there are at least four times that many actual magical children born into mundane families every year. All the other Muggleborns go to Wizarding Trade Schools with all the wizard-borns whose families aren't wealthy enough or of sufficient standing to merit a Hogwarts letter. I believe a comparative Muggle school is Eton, that the royal princes attend," she added pensively, "so please adjust your manner accordingly lest you make enemies."

Miss Granger gaped unattractively. "Who are you anyway?" she muttered after a pause.

Dorea smiled. "I am Dorea Black, heiress Black, of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Granger, and you are very fortunate that I am not easily offended by unthinking ignorance."

The girl stewed silently, visibly unhappy at being called ignorant when she clearly prided herself so strongly on knowing everything. "I've read about your family in _Modern Magical History_," she said eventually, sounding rather subdued. "Is your father Sirius Black, who was wrongfully imprisoned for the death of the Potters?"

"Yes," Dorea said simply.

"Oh." Granger then failed to grasp Dorea's unwillingness to continue the conversation and blundered onwards in a way that was both Ravenclaw in its obliviousness and Gryffindor in its idiocy. "Do any of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best–"

Dorea couldn't help it: she laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of this girl's naiveté. The Muggleborn bristled.

"What's so funny?"

Dorea waved her over to one of the vacant seats nearest the door. "Granger, please sit down. You too Neville."

Both sat, the girl with a huff and a flounce. "Why do you call me 'Granger' and him 'Neville'?" The bushy-haired girl asked grumpily.

"Because I have known Neville since we were both quite small, we are related –if distantly– and I have his permission to use his first name," Dorea said easily, her laughter at the absurdity of her fellow eleven-year-old having cheered her up. "He is after all a fellow member of the landed gentry and it would be overly familiar of me to use his first name without being asked to."

Granger, not being by any means stupid, caught the implications.

"Now, you were asking about houses," Dorea went on swiftly, not giving the other girl a chance to react, "and I have to say that if you asked, you would of course be told that Gryffindor is the best house because Gryffindors are the loudest, brashest, most boastful students in the school. I have Muggle-raised cousins and they tell me that the best Muggle comparison for Gryffindors are the so-called 'popular kids', the ones who love the spotlight and feel everyone should follow their lead because they are just that cool. They don't get the best grades, certainly aren't the smartest, the most loyal or the most careful, but they get themselves into high places by sheer force of personality and steam-rolling over everyone else."

Dorea paused to enjoy Hermione Granger's gobsmacked expression. "Ravenclaw are what I'm told are called the 'geeky type', being intellectuals of every stripe with a healthy smattering of eccentrics. They're more individualistic than Gryffindors and less hung-up on social status, but they do get very competitive in-house. I've got cousins in there and you apparently need to keep your wits about you. Hufflepuff's rather different: I had another cousin in there who graduated last year and according to her Hufflepuff's all about making friends, mutual support and not leaving anyone behind. Hufflepuffs don't fail grades because their fellow Hufflepuffs make sure they know what they need to pass and after leaving Hogwarts they go on supporting each-other and usually get jobs through in-House connections. They're like a very large family and it works for them." Dorea paused once more.

"And then there's Slytherin. Slytherin gets bad press because the last Dark Lord was in Slytherin, but he had supporters from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor too, like Peter Pettigrew." Pettigrew had been discovered and arrested six months after Papa got out of Azkaban and was in a cell of his very own fitted with anti-animagus wards, mostly to prevent the rat from escaping through the bars. "There are blood purists in Hufflepuff too, they're just politer about it and less likely to kill you over it. Anyway, Slytherin. Slytherins are ambitious, but without ambition nothing ever gets done. I bet you're ambitious too, Granger. It's also the house of the cunning: Most Slytherins come from old families where proper etiquette is taught practically from birth and there are considerable expectations weighing us down. We are the next generation, the ones who will have the power to shape society in the coming years, and all eyes are on us to see which way we will lean. To get through that without getting dragged down we need to keep our wits about us, be subtle and clever. We also need excellent survival instincts and a willingness to retreat to fight another day, because if we lose then our families will pay the price." Dorea paused again, noting with pleasure that her entire audience was utterly enthralled.

"There is no 'best house'; I personally feel that Hufflepuff comes close although I have no desire to join it. There is simply the house which suits you best and in which you will reach your full potential. I think being in Gryffindor would leave you feeling lonely and frustrated, Hermione Granger, and that you would be far more comfortable in Ravenclaw."

Granger just sat there for several seconds, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Then she got to her feet. "I'd better go back to helping Neville find his toad," she muttered, pushing the door open and leaving. Neville jumped up, threw a wide-eyed look at Dorea and hurried after her.

"Nice speech," Tracy said dryly.

"Think I made an impression?" Dorea asked.

Daphne snorted. "Most definitely. Hopefully she'll get Sorted into Ravenclaw." The blonde glanced at Dorea. "Oh, I know that look; thinking of making the rude girl your new hobby?"

"She memorised her textbooks, Daphne," Dorea pointed out. "Think how useful a legal attorney or personal assistant with all the relevant laws and codes memorised would be."

"Plotting the advancement of House Black at the expense of your year-mates and we're not even off the train," Tracy said, shaking her head. "You are _so_ going in Slytherin, Rhea."

"Willing to help me get hold of the right books, Trey?" Dorea retorted. "I know you know which the best ones for Muggle-raised students are; you gave me a list to pass on to my cousins back when we were eight."

Tracy pouted. "Dee, Rhea's being cruel and unusual."

Daphne smiled. "What's so unusual about it? Just go with it, Trey: Rhea's right. Granger's got potential and she's abrasive enough that nobody else is going to try and take advantage for a few years, so we've got a head start."

"I always forget that you're worse than Rhea sometimes Dee," Tracy muttered, shaking her head. "Fine, I'll write you a list. Hogwarts won't have 'em but you can owl-order 'em from Flourish and Blotts."

"Moros will enjoy terrorizing the staff when I send him with the order," Dorea said equably, the owl looking rather pleased at the prospect of instilling fear in the masses. "Now we seem to be slowing down, so we should probably get our uniforms on."


	13. Chapter 13

Beta'd by the marvelous InsaneScriptist.

* * *

><p><strong>Of arrivals and sorting<strong>

They arrived at Hogsmeade station less than a quarter of an hour later, just as Neville slipped back into their compartment with his toad clutched close to his chest to put his uniform on. Dorea suggested he put his toad in his now-empty lunch box while putting on his robes, which prevented the amphibian –which was apparently named 'Trevor'– from getting away again. Once the train had completely stopped they all exited the compartment, leaving bags and trunks behind, though Dorea surreptitiously stowed the Potter invisibility cloak in an Expanded pocket so as to protect it from potential discovery. She also carried Moros outside so he could fly up to the School himself, as the Omen Owl was not the sort to take any manhandling of his person gracefully unless it was a genuinely necessary part of the acceptance or delivery of mail. The station was dark, cold and swimming in students, most of them taller than Dorea's five foot one. The six first-years huddled together to prevent themselves from being carried off by the crush.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" Came a cheerful male bellow. Looking upwards Dorea saw a lantern bobbing well above everyone's heads, grabbed Daphne and Neville by the hand and moved determinedly in that direction. Upon getting closer she could see the man holding the lantern: he was massive, half as tall again as a normal man and easily twice as wide, with a thick black beard that camouflaged his friendly and amiable expression. "C'mon, follow me –any more firs' years? Mind yer step now! Firs' years follow me!"

Dorea followed, not letting go of Neville as they descended a steep, narrow path between evergreens; Dorea could hear the rustling of the spruce needles overhead and the muffled crunch underfoot even through the mumbling, heavy breathing and occasional startled squeak of her fellow eleven-year-olds. Neville nearly fell over twice, the second time losing his toad again as it escaped from the pocket he had put it in after changing into his robes.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the massive man –who was probably the Hagrid her father talked about sometimes– called encouragingly over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

They rounded the bend and Dorea couldn't help but gasp; she wasn't the only one to do so. The narrow path had opened out onto the side of the Black Lake, which glimmered mysteriously under the starry sky. Straight ahead and perched on the top of a rocky crag on the opposite side of the lake was Hogwarts itself, a massive castle with numerous turrets and towers poking above its walls, windows shining golden in the dark. Glancing around, Dorea saw boats moored up against the shore they were standing on and a wide, flat grassy sward to the left of the castle leading up to dense forest. On the other side of the castle crag was a much narrower green strip that edged onto a rather sparser woodland, above which little lights twinkled in a way that suggested a settlement, probably Hogsmeade village considering it was in the direction they had just come from.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing his very silly-looking pink umbrella at the boats. There was a bit of a scramble as everyone tried to get into a vessel with their friends; Dorea wound up sitting with Neville, Hermione Granger and Tracy; the next boat over held Daphne, Sally-Anne, Lisa and a tall, dark-skinned boy with a cheery grin.

"Everybody in?" Hagrid shouted –Dorea noted he had a boat to himself that was rather low in the water– "right then! Forward!"

The little fleet moved off at once, gliding easily across the smooth lake. "I wonder if they still do this when it rains?" Tracy mused.

"Probably," Dorea muttered. Good sense was not a common trait among Wizards, though Muggles were by no means immune to blatant idiocy. Ahead of them the castle loomed ever closer, blotting out the sky as they approached the cliff where the crag dropped down to meet the lake.

They had to duck their heads as the boats sailed under a curtain of ivy into tunnel carved into the rock, then deeper into the bowels of the mountain until they reached a harbour carved out of the rock where the boats stopped. Everybody then clambered out of the boats –Dorea estimated their year numbered forty– and Hagrid handed Neville back his toad before they ascended another steep rock-cut passageway that led out unto the grass right in front of the castle's main doors. Dorea was grateful for her warm, shin-length robes: Scotland after dark in early autumn was _cold_. Daphne sidled closer to her as Hagrid knocked on the doors, which opened immediately to reveal a tall, black-haired witch with a stern face and austerely cut green tartan robes. This had to be Professor McGonagall, whom Papa had spoken of fondly and whom Dorea knew to have visited him while he was in Saint Mungo's. None of her Great-Aunts knew her very well: the only still-living member of the Black family to have attended Hogwarts at the same time as the Transfiguration Mistress was Uncle Cygnus.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

"Thank-you Hagrid, I will take them from here." The authoritative certainly of her voice had them all moving almost before they realised it, entering the door as the Professor pulled it wide and following her down the Entrance Hall, which was all grey stone lit with flaming torches with a wide marble staircase leading to the upper floors. Dorea followed quietly, happy to be concealed as much as possible in the middle of the group. Being about the fourth-tallest after the dark-skinned boy Daphne had shared a boat with, the scruffy redhead who was definitely a Weasley and Millicent Bulstrode, Dorea was incapable of truly hiding but she preferred not to draw attention to herself before she had a chance to assess her situation.

Professor McGonagall led them into a side-chamber off the Great Hall, from which the low murmurings of the older students were clearly audible through the wall, then turned to address them:

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, "the start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses." Dorea let the rest of the speech wash over her, being already aware of most of the information she was being given. Glancing around, she was able to pick the Muggle-raised students out of the group by their attentiveness and slightly more visible nervousness. Her speech given, the Professor informed them she'd be returning to collect them presently and left them to their own devices. Interestingly, the Weasley boy looked slightly ill and everyone else looked worried.

Dorea wasn't worried. She knew that however the sorting happened it would not hurt nor be humiliating because if it had been Papa would have sent her to Beaubatons or hired private tutors; probably the latter, all things considered. She had no fear of crowds or being the centre of attention, though she didn't crave it either, and was sure that so long as she kept her wits about her everything would be fine.

The screams interrupted her calm; Dorea slid into a ready stance and glanced about, but relaxed as soon as she sighted the ghosts. This she _had_ been expecting: Papa had told her all about Sir Nicholas, Dora about the Fat Friar, Patricia about the Grey Lady and all of her great-aunts had warned her to be polite and ladylike in the presence of the Bloody Baron but not to display either fear or lack of spine.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling at them all from the front of a group of about twenty ghosts. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

Dorea and a few of her braver companions nodded.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old home, you know," the spectral friar said jovially.

"Move along now," came the crisp voice of Professor McGonagall, "the Sorting Ceremony is about to start."

Dorea moved along, Daphne ahead of her as a boy with a dark olive complexion and short black curls fell in behind her as they formed a line in accordance with the professor's directions and followed her into the Great Hall.

It was a large and rather austere space, not much better than the Entrance Hall had been and brightened only by the tapestries on the walls, the myriad lit candles floating in the air above the four long tables that were doubtless intended for each of the Hogwarts houses to sit at and the reflected light off the golden plates and goblets. The students at the table on the far right had green ties –Dorea spotted Avery sat about halfway along and Stephanie only two seats away from the empty space at the near end– and those on the far right had red ties. The Weasley twins were there, about a third of the way along from the near end and not far from another redhead who looked related. On the near left were Ravenclaws in blue ties –Gregory was sat at the near end of that table– and in yellow ties and the near right were the Hufflepuffs.

They were mostly staring at the ragged old hat Professor McGonagall had just set on a stool in the middle of the near end of the hall, right in front of the first-years, so Dorea let her eyes drift over to see what the fuss was about.

The hat twitched, a rip near the brim opened wide –and the hat started to sing:

"_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,  
>But don't judge on what you see,<br>I'll eat myself if you can find  
>A smarter hat than me.<em>

_You can keep your bowlers black,_  
><em>Your top hats sleek and tall,<em>  
><em>For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat<em>  
><em>And I can cap them all.<em>

_There's nothing hidden in your head_  
><em>The Sorting Hat can't see,<em>  
><em>So try me on and I will tell you<em>  
><em>Where you ought to be.<em>

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
><em>Where dwell the brave at heart,<em>  
><em>Their daring, nerve, and chivalry<em>  
><em>Set Gryffindors apart;<em>

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
><em>Where they are just and loyal,<em>  
><em>Those patient Hufflepuffs are true<em>  
><em>And unafraid of toil;<em>

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
><em>if you've a ready mind,<em>  
><em>Where those of wit and learning,<em>  
><em>Will always find their kind;<em>

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
><em>You'll make your real friends,<em>  
><em>Those cunning folks use any means<em>  
><em>To achieve their ends.<em>

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
><em>And don't get in a flap!<em>  
><em>You're in safe hands (though I have none)<em>  
><em>For I'm a Thinking Cap!"<em>

Dorea blinked. An enchanted artefact capable of Legimency? Was that even legal? Then again, it was probably a Founders-Era artefact and most modern Wizards had a deplorably rosy-tinted view of the past as a result of reading too many censored text books. Just because something was traditional didn't mean it was a good idea; Great-Uncle Marius had taught her about the effects of inbreeding and its demonstrated effects on both show dogs and people, which proved that marrying cousins to keep the blood 'pure' might have been 'traditional' but was still very, very stupid.

"When I call your name you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall said with a small smile. "Abbot, Hannah!"

Hannah stumbled forwards, blushing at being first and her blond pigtails swinging, sat on the stool and put on the hat. Barely a moment later the hat shouted,

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table where all the students with yellow ties were sat at cheered and clapped as Hannah took the hat off and hurried over to sit at one of the empty places at the near end of the table.

"Black, Dorea!" Dorea stepped forward and calmly walked over to the stool, sat down and dropped the hat over her head. It immediately fell down to cover her eyes.

_Hmm, tricky,_ said a soft voice in her mind that reminded her of faded curtains, old Wards and the quiet of an oak forest at noon. _Great courage, a brilliant mind and deep loyalty, not to mention a powerful resolve and high hopes for the future; hm, where to put you… _

Dorea frowned inside the hat. She did not have 'hopes', she had 'intentions'; there was a difference.

_Hah, so there is. Well then, better be_–

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat shouted as Dorea removed it from her head, set it on the stool she'd just stood up from and went to sit at the table she'd seen Stephanie at as all the students wearing green ties applauded. Once sat down she smiled up the table at her cousins then turned back to watch the rest of the sorting.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Susan hurried over to sit next to Hannah, her auburn hair gleaming in the candlelight.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!" The blue-tied students cheered this time, several of then getting up so they could lean over and shake Terry by the hand as he sat down at their table.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Brown, Lavender!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" The table the Weasley twins were sat at instantly erupted in cheers as the curly-headed caramel-blonde hurried over to sit with them.

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"

"SLYTHERIN!" Millicent sat down opposite Dorea, who had joined in the applause, nodded briefly at her then turned to watch the sorting.

"Corner, Michael!"

A pause. "RAVENCLAW!"

"Cornfoot, Stephen!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Crabbe, Vincent!"

"SLYTHERIN!" Vincent lumbered over and sat down a visible distance away from Millie, who ignored him despite having applauded as hard as everyone else at their table.

"Davies, Tracy!"

Another pause. "SLYTHERIN!" Tracy sat down next to Dorea, but leaving a bit of space so she could shuffle up when Daphne joined them.

"Dunbar, Fay!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Entwhistle, Kevin!" One of the boys who was definitely Muggle-raised, if his reactions to Professor McGonagall's introduction had been anything to go by.

"RAVENCLAW!" Ravenclaw table was filling up pretty quickly, Dorea mused.

"Finch-Fletchey, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnegan, Seamus!"

Quite a long pause this time. "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Goldstein, Anthony!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Goyle, Gregory!"

"SLYTHERIN!" Goyle sat at a distinct distance from Crabbe, leaving a wide space for Draco Malfoy's inevitable arrival.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Another brief pause. "RAVENCLAW!"

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

"SLYTHERIN!" Tracy shuffled over so Daphne could sit between herself and Dorea, the blonde flashing a brief, relieved smile at them both as she settled.

"Hopkins, Wayne!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Jones, Megan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Li, Sue!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Longbottom, Neville!"

There was quite a long pause this time, as Neville seemed to be arguing with the hat. It eventually shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" and Neville forgot to take that hat off before going to sit down and had to hurry back to hand it over to the next person.

"Macavoy, Heidi!"

Pause. "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Macmillan, Ernie!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Malfoy, Draco!"

"SLYTHERIN!" Draco swaggered over to the table where Dorea, Millicent, Tracy, Daphne and his two goons were sat, settling himself in the space between Crabbe and Goyle with plenty of room on both sides.

"Malone, Roger!"

A pause. "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Moon, Lily!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Nott, Theodore!"

"SLYTHERIN!" Interestingly, Nott chose to sit down on Tracy's other side and inclined his head politely in Daphne and Dorea's direction. Both girls nodded back.

"Parkinson, Pansy!"

"SLYTHERIN!" Pansy flounced over and sat on the end of the table opposite Nott, with Goyle between her and Malfoy. The only real space at their table now was between Millie and Crabbe.

"Patil, Padma!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Patil, Pavarti!"

A pause. "GRYFFINDOR!" Those last two had been identical twins, which made it unusual to see them sorted into different houses.

"Perks, Sally-Anne!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" Dorea hoped Sally-Anne would still talk to them if they bumped into each-other in the girls' toilets. Expecting a conversation in class would be a bit much, considering how heavily Gryffindors were rumoured to apply peer pressure.

"Rivers, Oliver!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Smith, Zacharias!"

A pause. "HUFFLEPUFF!" Hufflepuff table was now looking pretty full compared to Gryffindor.

"Thomas, Dean!" It was the tall and cheerful boy with dark skin from the boats.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Turpin, Lisa!"

"RAVENCLAW!" Ravenclaw table was just about full too now.

"Vane, Emma!"

A rather long pause. "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Weasley, Ronald!" This had to be one of the twins' younger siblings.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Zabini, Blaise!" The last remaining boy stepped forwards; it was the olivine boy who had been standing behind her in line.

"SLYTHERIN!" Rather than perch on the end next to Pansy or Nott, Zabini walked up the table and sat between Millie and Crabbe, directly opposite Daphne. Catching Dorea's eye he smiled and nodded, so she nodded back. Daphne and Tracy also acknowledged his friendly overtures.

As Professor McGonagall carried the hat and stool away Professor Dumbledore stood up from his gaudy golden chair at the high table, beaming with his arms open wide. He looked somewhat senile in his garish robes and long silver beard.

"Welcome!" he said, clearly making an effort to sound wise and avuncular. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words; and here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank-you!" He sat down amid cheers and applause. Dorea clapped repressively, face bland. An eccentric façade was all very well until it became impenetrable even to those who knew you, at which point a person usually lost track of who they actually were and started doing increasingly dubious things. However as the Headmaster sat down food had appeared at the tables, so Dorea shoved her plans for the letter she was going to write home aside and concentrated on eating; lunch had been a long time ago.

* * *

><p>During the feast Dorea made the acquaintance of the second-year boy on her left, who introduced himself as Miles Bletchley and mentioned that he intended to audition for Keeper on the Slytherin Quidditch team that year. He pointed out to her the people who'd been on the team the previous year, who included Higgs and Pucey alongside Marcus Flint who was the Captain, Graham Montague, Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. Slytherin had won the Quidditch Cup for the past five years and was keen to repeat that performance again this year. Dorea paid polite attention and admitted that, while she did enjoy watching Quidditch, she didn't get any pleasure out of broom flight so was unlikely to ever join the team.<p>

She also chatted to Daphne on her right and engaged in a rather lively conversation on Italian Magical politics with Zabini, who was sharp and very witty. She did try to draw Millie into the conversation too, but with such little success that she soon gave up. As the main course vanished and desserts arrived the Bloody Baron floated over and inserted himself in the gap between Draco and Crabbe, forcing the young Malfoy to budge right over towards Goyle in order to avoid having a ghost sit through him. Dorea caught his eye and inclined her head politely, but did not speak. It was not her place to address an elder –even a dead one– across the table, especially when she hadn't yet been introduced.

"You are a Black," the ghost said hoarsely after scrutinising her for several minutes, his chains clinking slightly as he shifted.

"Indeed Baron," Dorea said demurely, meeting his eyes and holding them. "My Great-Aunts all speak highly of you, as did my Great-Great-Grandfather Arcturus when he lived."

"Whose child are you, Black?"

Dorea dropped her gaze. "My father was Sirius Black, Sir."

"The Gryffindor."

"Yes Sir." She raised her eyes again, meeting his darkly tormented and rather transparent gaze squarely. "My Great-Aunt Cassiopeia raised me, Sir."

The Baron nodded. "A fine young woman." Then he turned away, seemingly losing interest in her in favour of staring blankly into space at a point above Nott's head.

Dorea suspected he would get back to her later on the subject of combat lessons, so instead she let her eyes drift up to the High Table. Dumbledore in the middle with Professor McGonagall at his right hand, a small man who was likely the Ravenclaw head of house, Professor Flitwick next to her and then four teachers she couldn't identify and a space, with Hagrid at the far at the end. On Dumbledore's left was another space, then Professor Sprout the head of Hufflepuff, Professor Snape the head of Slytherin and next to him a pale man in a purple turban whom he was talking to, then another four teachers. Dorea was careful to keep her eyes downcast and head tilted so as not to catch any teacher's eye, Severus Snape's in particular. Papa had warned her that he had been 'a bit of a bully' in school, though he had added that Snape had given as good as he got despite being outnumbered at least two to one at any given time. This meant that Snape hated him and would probably hate her by association, though if she was sorted into Slytherin that hatred would probably be muted into ignoring her entirely.

Papa also warned her that Snape was the person most likely to recognise that Lily Potter née Evans had been her mother, and Dorea had been given a sealed letter to give to the man should he notice the resemblance and put two and two together. That letter was in her uniform inside pocket, had been for nearly a month now, and she rather hoped she wouldn't need it. Severus Snape had been exonerated after the Voldemort War for being a Death Eater due to Dumbledore vouching for him as a spy, meaning he was firmly in Dumbledore's pocket and could easily give her identity away to the old man. Sirius had claimed that Snape and his mother had been friends in school and seemed sure that fondness for her mother would carry over, but Dorea didn't like it. She'd never liked uncertainty and wouldn't really feel comfortable until things had gone down one way or the other.

After the desserts had also been cleared away Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet again.

"Ahem; just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you:

"First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils; and a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore seemed to glance over at the Gryffindor table as he said that. "I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors; Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch; and finally I must tell you that this year the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is off-limits to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

A few people laughed; Dorea just narrowed her eyes.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore exclaimed. The other teachers did not seem enthused by this pronouncement and Dorea steeled herself.

It was worse than she could possibly have imagined. Miss Selwyn would have been appalled.

* * *

><p>Dorea and her fellow Slytherin first-years followed the prefect who had introduced herself as Gemma Farley –no relation to the Fawley family– out of the Great Hall and down a stone staircase into the dungeons, then further down still. It was colder and slightly damper than the Great Hall and the stairs went down a long way. Counting her steps and remembering the ascent from the harbour, Dorea estimated that they had gone down as far below the surface of the lake as the Great Hall was above it. The corridors and rooms they were walking through were darker and the portraits frequently featured snakes and serpent motifs. Farley finally came to a stop in front of a blank stretch of wall.<p>

"This is the entrance to the Slytherin Common room," she said briskly. "Currently the password is 'wormwood', but it will change every fortnight. The current password will always be displayed on the common room notice board, so be sure to pay attention or you'll get locked out." The wall had slid open as Gemma said the password and she led them all inside. Dorea glanced upwards at the ceiling in fascination, which seemed to show the lake above them as the ceiling in the Great Hall had shown the sky. Had Slytherin Enchanted the ceilings?

As Dorea pondered this, Farley continued her speech. "The boy's dormitories are through the far left-hand door in the back wall of the common room; the girl's dormitories are through the far right-hand door. As you are first-years, you will be sleeping in the dorm nearest the common room. The two central doors in the back wall lead to the Slytherin Library and Reading Rooms respectively, which hold copies of the most useful books from the main library so you don't have to wrestle with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to get hold of them. The door in the left-hand wall leads to Professor Snape's office as Head of Slytherin; he'll be summoning each of you to a private interview there during the coming week. It's something he does for everyone in their first year so don't worry about it. The door in the right-hand wall leads to the duelling halls and you are _not_ permitted to enter before your third year without an older student accompanying you. You won't like what happens if you try, so don't bother." She sighed. "Now everyone to bed; your trunks are waiting in your dormitories."

Dorea walked sedately towards the dorms, letting Pansy scramble to get there first. The dormitory was very pretty, with the same green-tinged underwater view across the ceiling and the beds with their green curtains evenly arrayed around the walls of the oval-shaped stone room. Tracy's trunk was at the foot of the bed to the right of the door, Dorea's was the one after it, then Daphne's at the far end, Pansy's opposite Dorea's and Millicent's opposite Tracy's. The room was large enough for more beds, meaning that there was plenty of room for everyone to do their own thing in, or at least there should be. Dorea suspected things would be rather difficult until they'd all settled into a pecking order. As Heiress Black she had to be at the top, meaning Daphne would gravitate to second. Pansy would technically be third, being a pureblood, but Tracy would have the actual position due to belonging to the same clique as Dorea and Daphne. Millie would be at the bottom, but should she ever choose to ally herself with Dorea's group then Pansy would drop down to last. Hierarchy outside the dorm would be different –it depended on the boys too– but in here Dorea _had_ to rule. She knew she could do it so it was just a matter of getting it over with. But not tonight.

Dorea got onto her bed, changed into her nightgown and pulled the curtains closed before putting a very basic Ward on her curtains with her holly wand. The spell worked perfectly, so Dorea placed the wand on the ledge on her headboard and curled up to sleep, her battered hippogriff toy in her arms. Tomorrow would be her first day of school.


	14. Chapter 14

Beta'd by the notorious InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of truth and subterfuge<strong>

Severus Snape had been aware that Sirius bloody Black had a daughter for the better part of a decade; he was after all Draco Malfoy's godfather and the boy complained about his cousin regularly. However those complaints were not the kind of thing he would have expected from a child of Sirius Black; it seemed Dorea Black was more her mother's daughter than her father's, whowever that mother might have been. From Draco's childish whining Severus had deduced –by the time Black was revealed to be innocent and released from Azkaban– that Black's daughter was intelligent, well-mannered, restrained and had a good head on her shoulders. That said daughter was apparently green-eyed Severus did his best not to see too much into; Black had been a womaniser and green eyes were not as rare as all that; it was only his fondness for his childhood friend that led Severus to associate green eyes with just one woman. Lily had been smitten with Potter and Potter would have murdered Black before letting his friend so much as touch his wife anyway, so it was a foolish thought. Rose Potter was Lily's child, whom he would protect despite being the brat being the child of his most bitter enemy.

But the reports on the trial had shaken Severus' certainty of his godson's cousin having no connection to Lily: Black had insisted throughout his trial that Potter had been childless. Severus _knew_ Lily had been pregnant; she had duelled the Dark Lord _while_ pregnant for Merlin's sake! He'd been stricken with doubts for all of the following week and castigating himself for even _considering_ that lovely, honourable, fiery Lily would _ever_ betray _anyone_ when the letter informing him Lily Potter had bequeathed him something arrived by owl. He had not hesitated to attend; even if Black _was_ there, or that damned Lupin, he would bear it if it meant having something of Lily's that she'd left to him.

Then had come the will reading, which had confused him further: she had left him copies of her potions journals and her regrets that the War had made it impossible for their friendship to continue. She'd also left him her hopes that his friends would prove true, which had made him want to laugh, bitter as that laughter would have been: the Death Eaters were in no way true. They had never truly accepted him for whatever reason they had chosen and as soon as the Dark Lord was dead they'd all but ceased to communicate with him. Part of that might have been his exoneration of criminal activities by Dumbledore, but the fact remained that he was teaching his old 'colleagues' children and was Head of House to almost all of them. Only Lucius had kept in touch, having made Severus his son's godfather in the last year of the War, which had likely been prompted by Severus enjoying the Dark Lord's favour at that time due to that wretched prophecy. However at no point did Lily mention a daughter, instead leaving the Potter fortune to the Black girl. Dorea Rosamund Black, she of the Lily-green eyes.

The potions journals were a bittersweet gift: he'd helped her start them in her third year and worked together with her on the variations in recipe and ingredient processing in the following years. They had been as much his journals as hers up until he carelessly insulted and utterly alienated her with a single, bitterly regretted word, but after that he'd never seen them again. Reading her work with its scribbled notes in the margins on everything and anything had been like knives stabbing his heart but he'd not let that stop him, greedily devouring everything he could on her thoughts, plans and feelings. But seeing her set aside a half-finished project shortly after graduating in favour of the Virgin's Child potion had sent him straight to the firewhiskey.

The Virgin's Child potion had been made illegal to 'buy, supply, sell, teach, share the knowledge of or procure ingredients for without prior consent of all parties' for several centuries; Severus only knew about it because he'd come across a mention of it in an old potions text bought from Borgin's. It sounded perfectly innocuous, allowing a woman to bear a man a child without sexual contact, but it had featured in several infamous cases of Line Theft back in the eighteenth century and had been subsequently restricted. It wasn't actually illegal to brew, but it was incredibly difficult and was apparently used privately by various pureblood wives who had discovered a bit too late that their betrothed pureblood husbands were not interested in bedding them for any number of reasons, or indeed bedding any member of the fairer sex at all. However the way the law was worded meant that if a woman had the agreement of her child's future father and was skilled enough to brew the potion herself, she could do so. Lily had filled a quarter of one journal and two-thirds of the next on the difficulties involved, the faults in the recipe and the subtleties in the brewing method.

One of the reasons the Virgin's Child potion had not been simply banned outright was that, unlike Amortentia which only required a blood sample, Virgin's Child required seed. Fresh, fertile seed. Which suggested to Severus that karma had bitten Potter in the balls and made him incapable of siring children since Lily was resorting to potions and the assistance of Sirius Black.

His suspicions were confirmed by the notes in the margins: Black had supplied the original book, stolen from the library in Grimmaud Place, and had been helping Lily with the brewing. Seeing his untidy scrawl here and there in Lily's notes had infuriated Severus, but that fury had been tempered by the hints of how Potter had managed to ensure Lily's child was his heir by both blood and magic, as the will had said she was. Severus had never heard of the Line Adoption ritual, but according to Lily's notes it only worked on pregnant women and ensured that _both_ mother and child would register as belonging to the same family as the wizard casting it. Once Lily had got the potion to work –her elated scribble of _it worked!_ was dated to the second week of November– Potter had done the ritual; a subsequent heritage test –involving another potion carefully documented in Lily's journals– had declared Lily a half-blood member of the Potter family and her husband's fifth cousin. This, Severus realised, was how Lily had been able to legally and magically inherit the Potter Estate for all of three minutes after her husband died and why she had been allowed to leave it to her daughter without Potter's will ever being publically read.

Which meant that Dorea Black_ was_ Lily's daughter; that Dumbledore's public assertions of said child being 'safe' and his private concerns that she was not being cared for by her family were all lies. Dumbledore was unaware that Black even _had_ a child, Severus knew, as the headmaster had expressed concern for the children of various imprisoned Death Eaters numerous times over the past years but _never_ the unseen cousin Draco spoke of. Severus was equally sure that if he breathed a word of the Black girl being the missing Potter child he would find himself meeting a sticky end courtesy of Lord Black, whom even the Dark Lord had left to his own devices after one brief meeting. The older generations of the Black Family had considered the Dark Lord an upstart and a revolutionary, so had not been interested in his goals. They'd listened to his pitch, informed him that they would grant him support once he'd succeeded in taking over the Ministry then shown him out of their homes and ensured he couldn't get back in without disproportionate effort and significant casualties. They were more Slytherin than anybody alive other than possibly Lucius' father Abraxas –whom Severus found most disconcerting despite the man's engaging façade– and therefore best left alone. Cassiopeia Black was one of Dumbledore's most persuasive and coherent detractors and Severus did not want to get on her bad side. So he had not mentioned his well-grounded suspicions to the headmaster and instead savoured the fact that despite stealing Lily from him Potter hadn't been able to give her the child she'd always wanted.

Severus loathed Black almost as much as he had detested Potter, but Black had been a follower and wouldn't have bothered to target him more than any other Slytherin student if Potter hadn't been so bent on making his life miserable. Black had also lacked even the slightest personal interest in Lily and had only made an effort to befriend her after she and Potter started dating. So he had kept his peace, for Lily's daughter's sake.

It had become rather easier to restrain himself when, eight months after Black's trial, a letter had come. It had been delivered by one of the Black Family's infamous and intimidating great grey owls, written on expensive parchment and Black's own handwriting, much neater than his notes or school assignments had ever been. It had been a polite but complete apology for his 'inexcusable' behaviour at Hogwarts, coupled with a mention of how he had realised upon observing his daughter that she would never consider acting in such a manner, knowing it beneath her to be so petty. Forgiveness had not been mentioned anywhere, but Severus' bitterness concerning his treatment by the Marauders had lessened over the following years. Pettigrew he loathed for his cowardice –the rat deserved to rot in Azkaban and would hopefully die there– and Lupin he still detested despite Black's mention in his letter of how the wolf had been horrified when he realised Severus had nearly encountered him under the full moon. The almost throw-away mention of how Black still had the scars had made the Potions Master smirk, but the fact remained that Lupin had been weak: despite being a prefect he had never checked his friends' behaviour. Perhaps not a murderer, but a coward and a monster still.

However knowing of the girl's existence had not prepared him for seeing her in the flesh. Tall and as graceful as Lily at eleven with fair skin and vibrantly green eyes, it had been shocking to see her enter the Great Hall with the other first-years. The inky braid hanging to the middle of her back had faint red highlights under the candlelight and her calm fearlessness had been so very Lily he had needed to deliberately focus on his Occlumency to avoid giving anything away. Seeing her sorted into Slytherin had cemented everything for him: this was Lily's child, Lily's daughter whom the Dark Lord had tried to kill. He died before he could strike due to Lily's brilliance, skill and willingness to sacrifice herself for her daughter's sake, _this_ daughter's sake. She might be Black's by blood but as a Slytherin Lily's girl clearly took after her mother and the elder Blacks who had raised her while her father was in prison. From what Draco had told him she was a smart child, a hard-working child and above all a subtle child. She would be a credit to her House and so long as her true identity as Lily's daughter remained a secret he could favour her as much as he wished.

For the first time in almost fifteen years Severus actually wanted to smile. Instead he kept his face stern and went on watching the sorting.

* * *

><p>For the Slytherin first-years, September 2nd involved Herbology and History of Magic in the morning followed by Charms in the afternoon, as would all their following Mondays for the rest of the year. While Dorea found Herbology to be interesting and fun, if not particularly challenging, History was criminally boring and Charms was so easy it was ridiculous. Dorea had thus far earned herself five points for Slytherin for not damaging the flitterbloom she was re-potting and another five for answering Professor Flitwick's theory question, resolved to charm one of her Ravenclaw cousins into giving her their notes of Binns' lectures so she could pass the exams and used her history lesson to read ahead for the following day's Transfiguration lesson.<p>

After classes were over for the day Dorea spent the rest of the afternoon with Daphne and Tracy in one of the empty rooms down the hall from the common room, practicing Charms. Both girls were as keen as Dorea was to get a bit more practice in and by the end of the hour all three had mastered not only the Door-Locking Charm but a Charm to smooth out creases in clothing. They would have stayed longer, but Dorea had her interview with Professor Snape at four fifteen and did not want to be late.

It had turned out that, while very helpful, the map in _Secrets of Hogwarts_ was not entirely accurate due to the castle's internally mobile floor plan, which was most frustrating. Dorea had a quarter of an hour during History to jot down a list of points she wanted to cover in her letter home, which included details of her sorting, her room-mates, her opinions of classes thus far and her desire for an accurate map of the castle or at least an in-depth explanation of what moved when and where to. This included wanting the Grand Staircase's Arithmancy cycle because she had no desire to be late to class because the stairs moved to some obscure position due to some random interaction of moon phase and day of the week!

At quarter past four Dorea was stood outside the door in the common room leading to her Head of House's office, unsettlingly aware of the letter hidden in her uniform pocket. Hopefully there would be no accusations and she would be treated like any other student, but Dorea was not going to count on it. Her cousins were not the children of Sirius Black.

"Enter," came the stern voice of Professor Snape.

Dorea entered, glancing with interest around the study-like room. It had the same ceiling as the common room with its view of the lake, the same granite walls with serpentine carvings and dark, hardwood furniture. However the lighting was golden rather than greenish white, giving the room a warmer feel, there were tapestries on the walls between the shelves and cupboards and a green carpet covering most of the stone floor. It also lacked a desk, having instead a long coffee table across the middle of the carpet with three stacks of parchment on it, a pair of dark green leather-upholstered chairs facing it on her side and a larger, wing-back chair with matching upholstery on the opposite side in which Professor Snape was sitting, observing her.

"Good afternoon sir," Dorea said politely.

"Sit." Dorea sat in the left-hand chair and Professor Snape flicked his wand, conjuring a tea set and pouring her a cup. Dorea accepted it with a quiet murmur of thanks, considered the wandless detection spell that would let her know if it was poisoned and decided against it. Professor Snape was responsible for her wellbeing at Hogwarts, so he was unlikely to do anything as blatantly illegal as drug a minor when everybody in her house knew she was here and quite a few of them knew her well enough to spot uncharacteristic changes in behaviour. All of her cousins enjoyed wreaking spectacular vengeance, not just the Slytherin ones, and her older relatives would want a say as well.

She sipped the tea; Lapsang souchong. Very pleasant.

"Miss Black, you are now a member of Slytherin House," Professor Snape began quietly as she sipped her tea, "making your behaviour and welfare my responsibility. I do not care how strongly your views differ with your house-mates, so long as those disagreements remain in-house. Slytherin will present a united front before the rest of the school and you will support and be supported by your fellow Snakes in public. You are also expected to do your best in class, not cheek the teaching staff and seek any academic assistance you may require. Should you require assistance in any particular field you will speak to one of the fifth-year prefects, who will assign you to a student in second or third year. That student will mentor you until they are satisfied that you understand the material and know how to go about seeking further clarification from the library." He paused.

"Yes, sir," Dorea said, as that seemed to be expected of her. She took another sip of her tea.

"Other than the compulsory core classes you have been signed up for Ancient Studies, Musical self-study, Art and Combat," Professor Snape went on. "The Ancient Studies classroom is on the sixth floor off the main corridor, the music rooms are along the fifth floor corridor around the Quad and the Art classroom is also on the fifth floor, three or four doors down from the Muggle Studies classroom depending on the day of the week. Combat is held in the Slytherin duelling halls on Saturday mornings between nine and twelve in the morning and two and six in the afternoons, overseen by the Baron; you will be assigned a specific time by your sponsor. Do not be late, dress appropriately and bring all the necessary material with you. First-year Ancient Studies is held on Tuesdays at three o'clock, you are expected to use the music rooms for a minimum of four hours a week and Art is held on Thursdays at four o'clock. All extra-curricular subjects begin in the second week of term and your first lessons will involve being told what to acquire for each."

Dorea had put down her empty tea cup and grabbed her time-table out of her bag as this litany began and had quickly added the details of the different classes to it, as well as a note that she would have to owl-order additional supplies. She hadn't known there were extra-curricular classes available, but expected that it had been Great-Aunt Cassiopeia to sign her up for them and pay the additional fees. Papa probably hadn't taken any extra-curricular subjects or he'd have mentioned them to her. He might not even realise they existed! It was a relief though to know that she had enough subjects to study that she was unlikely to get bored.

"Thank-you sir," she said once she'd got everything written down, glancing up to meet her Head of House's eyes. "Is there anything else I should know?"

Professor Snape poured two new cups of tea then sat back and studied her silently. "I have never got along with your father," he said eventually, "but I will do my best not to let that colour my perception of you. You will find that most of the other Houses and over half of the staff are prejudiced against Slytherins, so be cautious in what you say and do. The headmaster in particular cannot look past his own failings and has no concept of appropriate discipline; if you are summoned to his office you may ask me to accompany you there since as your Head of House I am responsible for all disciplinary matters concerning you beyond the usual points and detentions. Do you have any questions?"

Dorea had a great many questions, but none she could really ask given the distance established between them as teacher and student. She took a fresh sip of tea. "Not at the moment, sir."

"Very well then, once you have finished your tea you may show yourself out." Professor Snape then turned his attention to the stack of parchment, producing a red-inked quill and marking what had to be holiday homework. Judging by the professor's frown the poor parchment would be bleeding shortly.

Dorea finished her tea and quietly left the office, mind abuzz. Professor Snape had not mentioned anything concerning her appearance or family in more than passing, but she suspected he knew about her heritage considering that –according to her mother's will– he'd received a copy of her mother's potion journals. However he hadn't asked, suggested or even insinuated anything at all. That suggested the subject was not to be referred to at all _ever_ and Dorea was fine with that. Heading back to her room, she slipped the unopened letter out of her uniform and into one of her trunk's internal secret compartments, picked up her portable writing desk and set out to join Dee and Trey in the reading room they'd commandeered. She had letters to write and take up to the Owlery before curfew; Moros would enjoy the chance to stretch his wings and bully a few unsuspecting wizards.


	15. Chapter 15

Beta'd by the outstanding InsaneScriptist

Today is Sawada Tsunayoshi's birthday! Of course, by the timeline my story is going by he'd only be two years old to Dorea's eleven, but still...

* * *

><p><strong>Of fear and prejudice<strong>

Due to how first-year classes were arranged, Dorea didn't actually get a chance to see any of the friends and acquaintances who'd been sorted into Gryffindor until the Friday of her first week of school. The Slytherin first-years had Astronomy on Tuesday nights with the Hufflepuffs, which was bearable because the badgers were good-natured enough not to pick fights over the snapping, snarling and general grouchiness that came from being tired and hungry yet still expected to think and pay attention. No snake would ever pick a fight with a badger in return because Hufflepuffs were considered to be –by and large– too dull to bother taking offense to, so the lesson had gone quite smoothly. Dorea had been paired with Zabini, who hadn't minded her frowns, murderous mutters and bitter sarcasm about how any _real_ school should have a magical planetarium so these lessons could be conducted at a decent hour. He'd even agreed with her.

Other than Astronomy the Slytherins shared all of their lessons except Potions with the Ravenclaws, who were for the most part smart and civil enough not to pick fights with the House of the cunning and ambitious. Granger had been a rather visible exception to this on her first two days, but by Wednesday she had subsided into slightly twitchy silence, broken only by infrequently volunteering information in response to the teachers and interactions with Padma Patil, who had attached herself to the Muggleborn girl and was making an effort to diffuse tension and dispel the misunderstandings that Granger was having trouble avoiding. On Thursday Dorea presented Granger with the stack of books Tracy had recommended and Moros had delivered at breakfast and by Friday the intelligent but socially oblivious girl was looking subdued rather than just suppressed. However Dorea didn't have a chance to discuss anything with the girl because Fridays were when the Slytherins and Gryffindors had Potions together. Dorea was pretty sure it was going to be something of a catastrophe, given the delicacy of the subject matter and the traditional enmity between the two houses, but she was looking forward to being able to chat to Neville, Lavender and Sally-Anne and see how they were doing.

She hadn't expected to have to contend with the same blinkered bigotry Draco and Pansy loudly indulged in coming from her friends' house-mates though. Especially since they'd technically already 'met', for all she'd been avoiding people when her Grandpa died.

* * *

><p>Dorea blinked at the Weasley who just called her a 'slimy snake'. "You do know that your grandmother was a Slytherin, Weasley?" she asked curiously.<p>

The boy went scarlet. "How dare you! All Weasleys are Gryffindors!"

Dorea's lips twitched in amusement. "Your grandmother wasn't a Weasley; she _married_ a Weasley. However I assure you that Cedrella Weasley née Black _was_ a Slytherin as she also happens to be one of my great-aunts; well she is technically a cousin several times removed but I call her my great-aunt when I visit her." Weasley was now almost purple with fury and embarrassment but most of the other Gryffindors looked more amused than angry. "Besides, snakes aren't slimy: that's slugs and toads. Snakes are scaly, dry and smooth."

"How do you know that?" A sandy-haired boy with an Irish accent asked curiously. "I'm Seamus Finnigan, by the way," he added with a grin.

"I wanted a snake as a pet but the school rules don't allow for them," Dorea said simply, accepting his rather rough-and-ready introduction with a nod and a smile. Finnegan's mother had been a Dawlish before she married, according to the various ladies her great-aunts knew. Despite the Thursday afternoon tea and gossip generally focussing on matters other than children and genealogy they still contained a lot of information that was more useful than was immediately apparent.

"Don't you have an owl?" Pavarti Patil asked.

"Moros is a family owl, not a personal pet," Dorea explained; "if he gets bored of delivering my post another family owl will replace him." She turned to Neville. "How are you doing, Neville?"

"I'm having trouble learning spells," Neville said miserably, "and I keep forgetting things."

Dorea patted him on the shoulder, "I'm sure you'll get better. Taking notes during lessons would mean you didn't _need_ to remember as much, so you could do that. As for practicing spells, if you want to meet up this afternoon in a vacant classroom to practice I'd be happy to help you. You _are_ family after all."

"You're a Black," Nott pointed out detachedly, "you're related to just about every pureblood in the building."

"True," Dorea agreed candidly, "but Neville's mother was my godmother and he was my first friend, so I'm allowed to like him more than say Weasley, who is an equally distant cousin."

Neville flushed. "Th-th-thank-you, Dorea," he said quietly, staring at his toes.

"Dorea waved if off. "It's fine. How have you been finding Herbology?"

Neville perked up at once at the mention of his favourite subject and conversation continued in a more-or-less civilised fashion until Professor Snape entered the classroom and started taking the register.

After a rather disastrous first Potions lesson –in which Neville demonstrated that _Animal Ingredients, Their Properties and Effects_ really should have been compulsory reading by adding porcupine quills before taking his cauldron off the fire and thereby melting it– Dorea stayed behind to ask Professor Snape if there were any facilities available for students who wanted to practice brewing in their free time. Her professor had gazed at her contemplatively for a few seconds before asking her why. Dorea had explained that, since _Magical Draughts and Potions_ was rather old and somewhat lacking in detail, she wanted to see if she could adapt the recipes using her knowledge of ingredient preparation and interaction. She also wanted to see if teaching Neville about each ingredient and its properties individually would make him less of a cauldron hazard, which would be easier outside the classroom. Professor Snape listened to her reasoning and agreed to let her use one of the smaller brewing rooms so long as she could find an OWL or NEWT student willing to supervise her efforts. Delighted at this –it wouldn't be hard to persuade her cousin Patricia to sit in– Dorea thanked her head of house and all but skipped out of the classroom. Due to being out of earshot she missed her teacher's amused huff:

"So very much like Lily."

* * *

><p>After lunch Dorea hunted down Neville by locating the entrance of the Gryffindor Common Room –not hard given that it was one of the few locations in the castle that <em>didn't<em> move and her father had mentioned its portrait guardian often– and politely asked the pink-gowned lady in the portrait on guard if Mr Longbottom could be found. The portly lady in the portrait had agreed, proving that manners were a universal currency, much to the amusement of Zabini –who had attached himself to her on the basis that she was by far the most interesting first-year in Slytherin– and Tracy. Daphne just looked as though she had expected nothing less, which may have been part of why Zabini was so amused.

It was not Longbottom who pushed the portrait aside though, but a Weasley. This one was older than the twins though and had a prefect's badge.

"Why are four Slytherins asking after Longbottom?" he asked shrewdly before his eyes fell on Dorea and he seemed to recognise her. "I seem to remember you half-drowning my twin brothers at New Year. Dorea, right?"

Dorea smiled sheepishly. "Yes, though I did apologise afterwards." Now she remembered him: he was the twins' next-oldest brother Percy.

Percy Weasley smiled back, looking moderately amused. "It's fine; they really deserved it and they've been less obnoxious since, so I should probably be thanking you. What did you want with Longbottom?"

"I offered to help him practice spells in an empty classroom," Dorea said with her best social smile. "If Perks, Patil, Brown or any of the other girls want to join in we wouldn't mind."

"Slytherins offering to practice spells _with_ Gryffindors rather than _on_ them?" the prefect sounded rather sceptical. Dorea grinned mischievously.

"I do wonder if any of them will be _brave_ enough to take us up on it," she said, projecting her voice to carry into the rather quiet common room behind the older boy.

There was a bit of a scuffle following her words, but in the end the four Slytherins had been joined by Neville, Sally-Anne, Fey Dunbar and Roger Malone, the former two having the advantage of prior acquaintance and the latter two wanting to 'look out for' the house-mates they had befriended since the sorting. Neville handled the introductions as Dorea led them to a vacant classroom on the sixth floor and the eight of them spent a fun few hours shooting sparks and smoke of different colours out of their wands. Neville was having genuine difficulty, but after getting a good look at his wand Dorea suspected that to be a result of a poor match-up rather than lack of talent. She did not say as much though, simply helping him with the wand movements and suggesting a few manual dexterity exercises to refine his control.

By dinnertime Neville was doing much better than before and looking rather more cheerful, joining in with Tracy and Sally-Anne at attempting to light a candle with the Incendio Charm. Daphne and Blaise –who had asked the Slytherins to call him by his first name– were more interested in learning _Alohomora_, while Malone, Dunbar and Dorea herself were attempting the Mending Charm on the basis that it was a good idea to learn how to fix things _before_ attempting the Severing Charm. Upon noticing the time they descended to the Great Hall as a group, separating to their respective tables with a cheerful promise to meet up again the following week. Dorea noticed with some amusement that the four Gryffindors were promptly interrogated by their house-mates and hoped that her efforts would have an impact.

"Fraternising with lions, Black?" Higgs inquired from across the table.

"I see no reason why house boundaries should prevent me from making useful connections," Dorea said with the sweet smile she knew made her look like she was plotting something. "I may need something dangerous to my health investigating and Gryffindors are the best people for that kind of job."

Stephanie chuckled. "What self-respecting Black would ever let such a minor thing prevent them from getting what they want?"

Dorea's smile widened. "Indeed, cousin."

Next to Higgs Bletchley snorted. "Can't see what use mudbloods, blood-traitors and idiots have."

Dorea felt her smile cool at the crude insults. "Other than bait and distractions, you mean?" she pointed out sweetly. "You never know when you might need a person of recognised honour and integrity to back up your alibi." Grandpa Arcturus had taught her the value of reputation.

Pucey paused, fork half-way to his mouth. "Black, you scare me," he said frankly after staring at her for several seconds. "And not just because the Weasley Twins already know you by name. Who thinks like that?"

"Isn't it a Slytherin way of seeing things?" Dorea pointed out.

Higgs snorted. "Very much so. Yet none of _us_ thought of it first and you're _eleven_, which is what makes it disturbing."

"My Great-Aunt Cassiopeia was in charge of my education," Dorea said idly as she cut up her chops. Said great-aunt had a well-earned reputation and made no bones about the kind of thing she considered important for children to learn.

"Ah." Pucey went back to his food.

"Should you have any grand plans, please let me know so I can get out of the way?" Higgs asked with a grin. "Unless you're recruiting, that is?"

"Not yet," Dorea said sweetly before returning to her food. She did turn the idea over in her head though. She needed to have more tangible goals than 'restore the Family to its former glory' before she started recruiting, which meant she rather needed information on what actually needed doing. Maybe a letter to Great-Aunt Lucretia would help her there?

* * *

><p>Draco had been remarkably quiet about Dorea socialising with the Gryffindors during the first two weeks of school, which had given her hope that, away from his parents' overindulgence, he was starting to think for himself. She had stolen a march on him by immediately asserting her views and acting on them outside the common room, which by Slytherin Code meant that he could not contradict or argue with her in front of non-Slytherins. However on the morning of her second Saturday at Hogwarts before breakfast Draco demonstrated that no, he still wasn't using his brain and confronted her in the common room with Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy as backup. Dorea tuned out the loud accusations of 'dragging the noble name of Slytherin into the dirt' and 'associating with the wrong sort' and concentrated on setting up her thoughts in a straight line.<p>

"You know Draco, you disappoint me," she said conversationally when he finally ran out of idiocy. "You have no idea of what it actually means to be cunning, your only ambition seems to be to have your father pat you on the head and tell you what a good little sycophant you are and you are as blunderingly narrow-minded and as tactless as Weasley. Just because you have no idea of what I'm doing doesn't mean my goals are in any way un-Slytherin. In fact, your incomprehension proves that I am succeeding in being _very_ Slytherin. You on the other hand are being positively Gryffindor in your obliviousness and blind assurance that you will do well because your father won't have it otherwise, despite his not being here to wipe your bum for you."

Draco went red, then white, then red again. He opened his mouth to say something.

"Please just stop talking Draco," Dorea intervened before he could speak, "you are embarrassing yourself. When you finally have something to say that doesn't begin with 'my father said' or 'wait until my father hears about this!' I might be interested, but until then you'd make less of a fool of yourself by keeping your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. You're an embarrassment to the family and I've lost count of the number of times I've had to apologise for you. If my father wasn't your mother's cousin I'd have given up on you by now."

Draco gaped like a goldfish until he finally noticed they had attracted a highly amused audience of older students who were either sniggering or shaking their heads pityingly at him. He instantly retreated, Crabbe and Goyle with him. Pansy foolishly stayed behind.

"Just you wait Black!" She shrilled. "Draco will get you back for this!"

Dorea winced at the pitch and volume. "Pansy, this is a family matter; Draco _made_ it a family matter by accusing me of social impropriety," she said sharply. "Just because your brain lacks the space for more than one thought at a time doesn't mean the rest of us are so handicapped. I have my family's permission and encouragement to act as I have been and that is not about to change. I am Heiress Black; you are your father's younger daughter, to be married off advantageously if at all. Please be quiet before one of the older students decides to Silence you."

Pansy went pink in embarrassment and flounced off.

"You know," said Nott quietly from where he'd been lurking in the shadows to watch the confrontation, "I think I'm going to enjoy Hogwarts after all."

Blaise, who was standing near the other boy, nodded. "If Black gets her way Slytherin really will rule the school, which will open up opportunities outside of school as well."

Deborah moved through the crowd that was dispersing now the show was over and fixed Dorea with a shrewd look. "You have a plan, don't you," she said flatly.

"Not as such," Dorea demurred.

Deborah snorted. "You mean, 'not yet', don't you?" she shook her head. "Keep the family posted, won't you Curly-Top? We can't back you up if we don't know what the plan is."

Dorea considered this. "Would Richard mind my owling him? I'd like a second opinion."

"Go for it, cousin," the older girl said easily before wandering off again.

"Does this mean you are going to take over the government after all?" Daphne asked quietly.

Dorea considered it. "I really rather not, but if all else fails I suppose so," she admitted. "I'd much rather just elevate competent, honest and straightforward people to positions of power."

"Which is why you're cultivating the lions," Tracy said, her tone suggesting she'd figured something out.

"Partly; I'd rather sponsor Hufflepuffs though, as they come with their own support network," Dorea admitted. "Not to mention they tend to actually work hard. I've got time though."

"Damn straight; it's only your second week," Higgs muttered from Dorea's left. "Avery sent me to tell you to be ready for nine thirty, Black; he'll be waiting for you at the door to the duelling halls then and if you're late he won't wait for you."

"Thanks Higgs," Dorea said before making tracks back to her dorm; she did not want to be late for her Combat class, knowing as she did that tardiness would inevitably get back to Mr Rookwood.

* * *

><p>Dorea was much busier in her third week of classes than she had been in her first or second week, due to the addition of two extra classes, music practice and swordplay to her schedule, but she still had more than enough time for homework and making friends. However Granger was avoiding her, which was rather unfortunate. Padma Patil stayed behind after transfiguration on Thursday to assure her that it wasn't really personal: Hermione was just having trouble dealing with the books Dorea had given her on British Magical society. Dorea assured Padma that she'd actually expected Granger to react something like this and wasn't offended, and offered the Indian girl a chocolate frog. Padma accepted with a small smile, promised to let her friend know that Dorea wasn't holding a grudge then vanished down the corridor.<p>

"Longbottom I can understand and you told me you used to do dance with Perks and Brown, but why _Granger_ of all people?" Blaise asked quietly. "She blindly worships authority, is an insufferable teacher's pet and a self-satisfied know-it-all, without even going into her lack of civilised manners and Muggle background."

Dorea smiled. "She told me on the train that she'd memorised her text books," she said calmly as they set off towards the Main Staircase. "If she has, it means she has an unusually detailed and accurate memory, which would be very useful in legal and investigative matters."

"So you want her because that way nobody else will have her," Blaise surmised bluntly, "and you think you can train her to be less awful."

"She's not introverted or single-minded like so many ravens and I get the impression she has Views on how things should be," Dorea went on quietly; "she certainly put her heart and soul into her schoolwork despite it not mattering as much as she seems to think. I think she'd be a good ally once she's got the hang of how we do things." She smiled. "She's much less of a trial than Draco, certainly."

"I don't see how anyone could be worse than Draco, Rhea," Tracy muttered as they reached the stairs.

"Trey, no tempting fate," Daphne murmured.

Dorea was of the opinion that there was nobody at Hogwarts as bad as Draco, with the possible exception of Zacharias Smith whom she didn't know well enough to make an accurate comparison. She did know that both options were equally appalling and that she wasn't interested in getting close enough to both boys to determine who was truly worse: doing so would unavoidably alienate just about everyone else she was attempting to befriend. She didn't say so however and the four of them entered the Great Hall playfully bickering about whether or not verbally tempting fate would actually make your situation worse and whether a person could prove it.

After lunch they had their first flying lesson, which Dorea simply could not work up much enthusiasm for. Brooms just couldn't match up to winged horses and griffons were even more exciting. However broom flight was something all little wizards and witches were expected to master, which was why Dorea was standing out on the grassy sward separating the castle from the Forbidden Forest, an elderly and decrepit broom at her side as Madame Hooch explained to the Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years how they were to behave. Several of the group looked less than enthused about the whole exercise: Neville was pale and fidgety, Fay Dunbar's hands were shaking and Blaise was eyeing the broom beside him with profound doubt. When the time came Dorea stuck out her hand over the broom and said,

"Up," with the same quiet and firm tone she used for the more biddable Aethonians. The broom rocketed upwards and slightly to the left, hitting her wrist rather than her hand. Dorea winced, adding this to the list of reasons why brooms were stupid, pointless and paled in comparison to living winged beasts.

Blaise's broom had twitched but not risen into the air, possibly due to the half-Italian boy not sounding at all like he wanted to risk life and limb attempting to take flight on a magical version of a cleaning tool lacking almost half its bristles. You didn't have to be a broom-maker to know that most of the Stability Charms went on the bristles. Daphne's broom had bounced slightly, suggesting that it _would_ have leapt to her hand were there not something wrong with its enchantments. Tracy's did not move at all, which might have been due to Tracy's dislike of heights as Neville's broom hadn't moved either and he had confided to Dorea earlier that he'd never been allowed to _touch_ a broomstick before and was nervous about falling due to being pushed off things by his Great-Uncle Algie so many times.

Dorea often felt that partial transfiguration had been too good for that nasty old sod, and rather wished she could somehow justify a second cursed letter when Neville's nerves caused him to take off early, lose control of his broom and fall off, breaking his wrist. Madame Hooch removed the unfortunate eleven-year-old to the hospital wing after threatening the rest of the class with expulsion should they fly in her absence. As the Quiddich coach was leaving earshot Dorea spoke quietly:

"Draco, if you do not keep your mouth shut I will be obliged to write to your mother."

Her words did not carry beyond the Slytherins closest to her, but Draco closed his mouth with a snap and turned to glare at her. Dorea ignored him. His ridiculous lies about narrowly missing helicopters over lunch had almost been enough for her to write to Aunt Cissa anyway to inform her that her precious baby boy was making an arse of himself. Imagining how Aunt Narcissa would react to such a letter was amusing, as was how Draco's mother would squirm if Dorea told tales back to Great-Aunt Cassiopeia and the elder lady took it upon herself to share the news over tea. However telling tales like that to her great-aunt would be ungracious to Aunt Cissa, so Dorea wouldn't do it.

"Since it's going to take Hooch at least ten minutes to get back, how about a game?" Dorea said lightly, eyes raking over the Gryffindors. "It's called 'Continuity': I say a word, the person next to me says a related word, then the person next to _them_ says a word related to the previous word, but utterly disconnected from the penultimate one. Repeating words or failing to follow the rules means you're out."

Weasley was ignoring her completely, but Malone, who seemed to be spokesperson by dint of getting on with just about everyone in his year, agreed and by the time Hooch returned they'd gone eight times around everyone –Weasley included, the redhead having succumbed to peer pressure– and even Pansy seemed to be enjoying herself and trying to catch out Nott, who was after her, with obscure and unusual terminology. Crabbe and Goyle had only lasted two rounds, but Dorea was privately impressed they'd made it that far. The flying lesson then continued without a hitch, the word game continuing in mid-air as the mixed group of eleven-year-olds did their best not to push the aging and somewhat temperamental brooms too far.

Dorea hoped it was a hopeful sign of things to come that no insults were thrown during that entire lesson.


	16. Chapter 16

Beta'd by the persuasive InsaneScriptist

* * *

><p><strong>Of deeply suspicious educators <strong>

By late October Dorea had settled into life at Hogwarts and her new routine, to the point that she was able to properly get on with all her various extracurricular activities and critically assess her surroundings. So it was that, on the morning of Halloween, she put the finishing touches on the list she intended to use as a basis for her letter home. The list covered all the points Dorea considered worth notifying her family of and ran more or less as follows:

_Hogwarts does not have enough teachers._ There was only one professor per subject, so they were busy giving lessons at every hour of every weekday while their evenings and weekends were too full of marking homework for them to be available to offer explanations or extra help. This business cut into Professor Snape's availability as Head of house, which was why he only ever saw first-years at the beginning of the first school term of the year and everybody else was supposed to get on with things. If you needed help you were expected to approach a prefect, who would in turn find an older student to help you. A few of the professors had apprentices who helped out in class but none of those professors taught core subjects, presumably because the ones who taught core subjects didn't _have_ the time to take on apprentices. Dorea considered this most unfortunate, as teaching the lower years hardly required a Mastery and having junior teachers in those positions would free up Professors Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Sinistra. Dorea did not consider either Binns or Quirrell worth mentioning, but for different reasons.

_Hogwarts needs a proper History teacher_. Binns may have had tenure, having taught at Hogwarts since before Professor Dumbledore was a student, but that just highlighted how horribly out of date his classes were. Cuthbert Binns had died in the nineteen fifties, had not changed his subject matter since the eighteen forties, as various Ravenclaws over the years had proven by how consistent their notes were decade after decade, and was criminally boring in his style. So many wonderful new discoveries had been made in the past hundred and fifty years and Binns never mentioned any of them! He lectured solely on the period of history between the founding of Hogwarts and the mid-nineteenth century, referencing sources known at that time and not accounting for recent advances or events. Dorea was willing to pay for the exorcist herself if it came to it as no living teacher could possibly be any worse! Students in Trade Schools probably got a better history education than Hogwarts students due to being more up-to-date and moderately engaging!

_Hogwarts needs a Planetarium._ Dorea actually believed the school might well actually _have_ a Planetarium somewhere, but that it had fallen out of use at some point and been forgotten about. From reading _Secrets of Hogwarts_ she had determined that having Astronomy classes at night on the top of the Astronomy tower was a recent development, if by 'recent' you meant 'of the past three hundred years'. Before that they'd been held _within _the tower, something Dorea intended to investigate once she had some time. Having classes at midnight was ridiculous and made all the first-year Slytherins tired and irritable on the following day. Not to mention how cold the halls got at night and how unpleasant it was going outside at that hour. More irritatingly was how the classes would be cancelled in inclement weather but there was no real system for _informing_ students of that vitally important fact. Notices went up in the common rooms after dinner sometimes, but mostly you had to check the notice board outside Professor Sinistra's office. The Prefects did their best to do so every day after dinner and let the affected students know, but it was often prudent to get up and go check for yourself at midnight, just in case.

_Please may I have more sheet music?_ Disappointingly, the music section in the Hogwarts Library was limited to magical composers, with only a few scraps of Mozart and Beethoven to brighten it up. Dorea wanted more _real_ music to play, written by _real_ composers who did it for a living rather than just bored or self-important wizards who dabbled. Music, like magic, required inspiration and passion to create rather than merely cobble together or reproduce.

_Can you give me any scrying tips?_ Dorea was keeping this particular discipline secret by dint of booking a music room for more hours than she strictly needed to practice her music, then getting the silver bowl out of her bag and filling it with water from the ever-full pitcher each music room contained so she could scry. She was mostly seeing snatches of things she couldn't really identify, but was gradually getting better at picking out images in the water. Dorea was fairly certain that she was seeing only the present, but her most recent attempt at seeing specific places had included the image of a Cerberus, which was disconcerting considering she'd been trying to see the off-limits third-floor corridor. There were four practice rooms with pianos in and it seemed there weren't that many students in Hogwarts interested in playing them, as Dorea had never had a problem booking several hours at a time even on short notice. Most of the music students played more portable instruments, so they could use any music room they pleased or even Charm an empty classroom if they fancied a change of venue.

_I am doing well in class._ In fact, Dorea was well ahead of all her core classes except Herbology, considered Astronomy to be boring and pointless and despised History of Magic for being a crime against the subject matter. They had covered the Levitation Charm in class this week but Dorea had mastered it two weeks previously, as well as the Floating Charm, the Levitation Charm and the Locomotion Charm. She, Daphne, Tracy, Blaise, Hermione and Padma were currently working on the Knockback Jinx, Dancing Feet Jinx and the Jelly-Legs Curse for Defence. They were also working on the Tongue-Tying Curse and the General Counter-Spell, as despite the latter being a second-year Charm it was useful to know when practicing magic on each-other rather than on objects. Not that they'd been _taught_ those spells, but they were in the text book despite Quirrel skipping over them. The Weasley Twins had stopped by to teach them a few prank jinxes, such as the Pumpkin-Head Jinx, the Trip Jinx and the Biting Jinx, the latter of which could only be used on objects, as well as the Revulsion Jinx which could be used to force the biting object to let go. The Pumpkin-Head Jinx had been very difficult to master but was both satisfying and harmless, as it did not _transform_ the victim's head but imposed the appearance of a pumpkin _around_ it. In return Dorea had introduced them to the Shoelace-Tying Charm, which when you reversed the wand movement knotted the victim's shoelaces together rather than tying them neatly. She'd also cautioned them against using it at the top of staircases, as they would get in trouble if anybody died. Dorea had also learned a lot more Charms from her other book, such as the Glass-Polishing Charm, the Bookmark Charm, the Plant Monitoring Charm –which told you if a plant was ill, drying out or getting too big for its pot– and the Flea-Killing Charm, which worked just as well to get rid of feather mites on owls. Moros may have been an Omen Owl and capable of slaying wizards if he so chose, but that didn't mean he could protect himself from more mundane owl problems.

_I've made lots of friends._ Hermione had spent most of ten days avoiding Dorea before approaching her after Potions on Friday to apologise, introduce herself properly and hesitantly ask if they could start over. Recognising how difficult saying such a thing had been for the proud Muggleborn girl Dorea had accepted graciously, so now in addition to her close friends Dee, Trey and Zee –as Blaise was happy to be called– she had Hermione and Padma as good acquaintances alongside Neville, Sally-Anne, Fey and Roger. Theo Nott could have been a good acquaintance if he'd actually approached them rather than keeping his distance, as could Millie Bulstrode, but that was their choice so Dorea left them to it. The rest of the lions preferred to keep their distance –Weasley in particular– tracking down the first-year badgers was nigh-on impossible due to how well-supervised they were by their house-mates and most of the other ravens were more interested in studying than making friends, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein being the exceptions. Michael Corner had also been 'interested', but not in a good way as he stared, didn't talk much and refused to respect the girls' personal space so they had driven him off. Kevin Entwhistle was Hermione's friend but refused to join the larger study group, possibly due to being shy. Padma referred to him as 'very quiet indeed' and mentioned that he'd asked to borrow the etiquette books Dorea had given Hermione, so it was possible he was afraid of causing offense or being laughed at. Dorea wasn't sure if the Weasley twins counted as 'friends' –they were certainly friendly– or about Higgs and Pucey. Pucey probably didn't count, as the third-year tended to ignore her unless Avery wanted a message delivered, but Higgs greeted her when he saw her, offered help in the common room and had deflected a few of the more bigoted upper years who had held her father's actions during the Voldemort War against her.

_Could you please send me more warm vests, tights and socks?_ It wasn't even November yet and the castle was already getting bitterly cold at night, especially in the dungeons and when they had to go outside at midnight for Astronomy class despite the Astronomy Tower's Wards sheltering them from the wind. Dorea couldn't understand why there wasn't a temperature-sensitive building-wide Heating Ward, as there was no doubt Hogwarts could have done with one. The only time she took her socks off now was while showering! Warming Charms only lasted for so long!

_Professor Quirrell is making my forehead itch._ Dorea did not write this accusation lightly; it had taken her two months of cautious experimentation and sitting in different seats around the classroom –as well as a cautious visit after curfew to verify that it wasn't the room itself or an object causing the problem– to determine that there was something about the pale, stammering Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor and his purple turban that was setting off her Blood Ward. It wasn't anything dramatic, just a sense that the closer she was to Quirrell, the more alert and ready to lash out the Ward was. Sitting at the front of the class made her feel like her blood was running hot and the one time she'd done it Quirrell had sent her to Madam Pomphrey barely ten minutes into the lesson because her face had been so flushed she appeared feverish. Putting this together with the former Muggle Studies Professor's slightly inconsistent stutter, his unhealthy pallor and his recent trip to the forests of Albania, Dorea suspected her father would feel obliged to take steps. Hopefully before whatever was wrong got worse.

* * *

><p>Dorea had not been at all pleased to find out that the Halloween feast would be a loud and cheerful affair lit by jack o' lanterns. At home they had never celebrated it like this, as the day held too many bitter memories for Papa. Instead they lit candles in every window, ate simple fare and Papa and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia would tell her stories about friends and family members who were no longer with them. This year, if she'd been home, her great-auntie and father probably would have shared stories about Grandpa. She was tempted to stay in the dorm and miss the meal altogether, but eventually allowed Dee and Trey to drag her out and sat quietly as all around her people celebrated.<p>

She had been picking at her food when Professor Quirrell sprinted into the hall, his turban askew and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know," before collapsing in a dead faint. Dorea was less than impressed; he was supposed to be the Defence teacher!

The subsequent uproar was considerable as the younger years freaked out –with a few notable exceptions– and the older students all started throwing around accusations or loudly speculating how on earth such a thing had happened. Dorea wanted to know too: she hadn't been aware it was possible to get into the dungeons from the school grounds. The passage would be very large to have allowed entrance to a troll, but knowing where it was in case she wanted to sneak out would be useful. The chaos continued until Dumbledore fired several purple firecrackers from his wand to get everyone's attention.

"Prefects," he commanded, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Dorea blinked at the utter _stupidity_ of such a command; both Slytherin and Hufflepuff were technically in the dungeons, although the Hufflepuff dormitory was on the uppermost dungeon level that was considered a basement or cellar rather than the dungeons proper. She leapt from her seat, evaded Gemma and grabbed Avery's elbow. The fifth year glared down at her.

"What _is_ it, Black?!"

"Our dorm's in the dungeons! What if we run into the troll?" Dorea gasped out quickly, not enjoying being at the centre of attention of the dozen upper-year students standing around Avery.

"Black's got a point," said the tall, lean, brown-haired girl with hooded hazel eyes and a prefect badge on the front of her robes. "Dumbledore's such a Gryffindor sometimes he forgets we don't all live in towers."

"I'll warn the 'puffs," said a short, swarthy boy with a hint of stubble on his upper lip before darting through the milling students to grab the arm of a muscular boy a head taller than he was.

"Back to your year-mates, Black," Avery said shortly, dragging her there himself then muscling onwards through the crowd towards Professor Snape, dragging Gemma Farley with him.

"What did you run off for, Rhea?" Daphne hissed sharply, her temper far more active than she usually allowed it to be.

"The troll is supposedly in the dungeons, but so are our dorms!" Dorea hissed back. "I promised Papa I wouldn't go running headlong into trouble and troll-hunting counts!"

"Ah." Blaise looked slightly green. "Good thinking." Draco, who had been panicking at the very _idea_ of a troll, whimpered at it dawned on him that they might have found themselves in the corridor _facing_ it.

"What was Dumbledore thinking?!" Daphne demanded to know, fists clenched and shaking. Dorea patted her friend's arm soothingly.

"Easy there Dee; he probably wasn't thinking. Most people don't. He was a lion at school so when he thinks of dorms he probably thinks of towers. Never mind that half the students sleep below ground level."

Tracy sniffed. "Moron."

"Do you hear me arguing with you Trey?" Dorea snarked lightly, setting off a round of sniggers.

"Right snakes, listen up," said Gemma, who had come back from conferring with Professor Snape, "we're staying in the Great Hall with the badgers until the professors come back from dealing with the troll, so sit back at the table and eat what you can. The doors will be closed, so nothing will be getting in here any time soon." Indeed, as she spoke the massive double doors at the near end of the hall were swinging closed. Professor Quirrell was no longer lying in a heap next to them either, so Dorea assumed he'd recovered and been dragged off to help with the troll problem.

Despite all the food looking very tempting, none of the younger Slytherins were really hungry. Dorea hadn't been hungry to begin with, but now that the people around her weren't laughing and stuffing their faces she felt her appetite return just enough for her to slowly finish what was on her plate. She was contemplating the dish full of roast parsnips in front of her when the doors silently swung open and Snape stalked in, frowning blackly.

"Professor?" the lean brown-haired girl asked, hurrying over. Dorea wondered if she was one of the seventh-year prefects, as she didn't recognise the older girl and the first-years mostly interacted with the fifth-year prefects. There was a bent sort of logic to the prefect system: the new fifth-year prefects looked out for the first-years, the more experienced sixth-year prefects for the second-years and the veteran seventh-year prefects for the third-years, who barely needed any supervision at all. Fourth-year students didn't have any prefects watching out for them specifically, but by then they didn't really need them.

The Potions Master spoke a few quiet words to the older girl then raised his voice to address all the students present.

"The troll has been found and dealt with; it was not in the dungeons at all but on the ground floor. The prefects will escort you back to your common rooms and dessert will be sent up afterwards." He turned and swept out of the hall again. Murmurs sprung up in his wake as the prefects got the lower years in order and the two houses went their separate ways.

"The dungeons are nowhere _near_ the ground floor," Tracy muttered incredulously. "How could a troll have possibly got that far in between Quirrell leaving it and the teachers finding it?"

"It's not like there are many staircases leading to the lower levels large enough for a troll to get up them either," Dorea agreed. "How did it get into the dungeons anyway? I didn't know there were any exits to the grounds."

"There will be ways in; Hogwarts is riddled with secret passages," said a third-year Dorea didn't recognise. "But most of those entrances aren't big enough to fit a troll through."

"The only doors I can think of big enough for a troll to casually wander inside are the ones on the ground floor," Blaise said. "I mean, trolls can be twelve feet tall!"

There was a brief silence as all the Slytherins within earshot pondered this while descending a flight of stairs.

"They _did_ find it on the ground floor," an unfamiliar second-year boy said slowly as they entered another narrow corridor, "and trolls are pretty slow and stupid. It won't have gone very far in the time between Quirrell finding it and the rest of the teachers catching up with it."

"Which means Quirrell was lying," Stephanie said bitingly, wand clenched tightly in her white-knuckled grip.

"His stutter is inconsistent," Dorea said quietly. She did not mention the reaction he got from her Blood Ward; that was not for public consumption. Nonetheless her comment got a reaction from the rest of her house: a stiffening of backs and setting of shoulders. There was a sense that henceforth not one of the snakes would trust their Defence Professor further than they could throw him without magic and would endeavour not to let him get behind them. That would be stupid and Slytherins were not stupid. How to arrange things so all backs would be watched while exiting the Defence classroom would have to be worked out later and would probably require teamwork.

"Another year of self-study," one of the fourth-years muttered bitterly, shoulders hunched.

"We could use one of the smaller duelling rooms for practice sessions," a seventh-year suggested. "I'll talk to Professor Snape about setting up a timetable for everyone who's got OWLs and NEWTs to study for and see if he can stop by once a week to tutor anyone having difficulties."

There was a murmur of agreement and gratitude as the column of students reached the common room and entered through the open section of wall. Slytherins looked out for themselves, Dorea realised, because nobody else would. The Headmaster certainly wasn't and Professor Snape really didn't have the time considering all his other work. What was going on with Hogwarts that a _troll_ had been able to get in? Didn't the school have Wards against this kind of thing happening?

Dorea realised then that she needed to add another section to her letter:

_A troll got into the school on Halloween._ She was sure her family would be delighted by the implications. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia might decide to use it to bring Dumbledore down a few pegs, or launch an inquiry into the state of the Wards. If Dorea's scrying really _was_ accurate and there was a Cerberus on the third floor quite a few Safety Wards had to have been deactivated to get it up there.


	17. Chapter 17

Beta'd by the queenly InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of well planned interventions <strong>

Three weeks later, the night after the first Quidditch match of the school year –Gryffindor versus Slytherin; the snakes had won by well over a hundred points– Lucretia Prewett née Black landed her broom in Hogsmeade and calmly let herself into Honeydukes sweet shop, briefly unravelling the Security Wards with a few flicks of her wand then putting them up again once she was inside. Checking her bag she made her way into the cellar, down the trapdoor hidden there and hurried along the tunnel leading into Hogwarts.

In complete contrast to her usual sweeping silvery robes the greying witch had on sturdy boots, Muggle combat trousers and a ladies' riding jacket, clothing she had initially purchased for running through unstable tomb complexes in. Lucretia Prewett had been retired for almost a decade now but she still fitted into her old 'uniform'; something she was exceedingly proud of. In her bag and trouser pockets she had all the necessary tools to deal with Dorea's Defence teacher, who was either possessed or carting about a very Dark object. Ignatius was leaning towards the latter, but Lucretia was the expert on souls and she believed Quirinus Quirrell to be possessed. She also intended to investigate the out-of-bounds third floor corridor and had a music box in one pocket to ensure the Cerberus wouldn't be a problem. Honestly, who used Cerberi these days? Their weakness to music was known even to Muggles!

The passage was by no means straight, but that did not bother Lucretia: she'd used it dozens of times during her time at Hogwarts to get off school grounds at weekends and meet her father, who had been tutoring her in Curse-Breaking and Soul Magic since she was twelve. Her baby brother Orion hadn't shared their passion for the subject, having taken after his mother in his love of Potions and Herbology. Little Dorea shared Lucretia's late brother's passion for brewing, which was rather bittersweet as despite being a competent potioneer Sirius had no love for the subject. He was fonder of Transfiguration and Duelling, which came from Aunt Cassie's side of the family. It was ironic really: Sirius had clashed with his mother constantly yet he had so much in common with Walburga. Lucretia's cousin had never really been sane, but she had been much more bearable when they were at school together. Sadly however she had held a grudge against Lucretia for 'abandoning' her right after they had taken her OWLs and they hadn't actually seen each-other since. Lucretia had heard about her brother's marriage by owl, the birth of her two nephews likewise and hadn't really thought much about her family until receiving the letter telling her about her little brother's demise. That had shaken her, but not as much as discovering her younger nephew was dead when she visited her father a few months before the latest war ended.

The steeply sloping passage at the end of the tunnel was easy enough to climb, even for a witch of her years. Silently casting _Homenum Revelio_ before emerging –it would not do to run into Filch– Lucretia lifted herself out of the statue of the humpbacked witch Gunhilda of Gorsemoor on the third-floor corridor on the left-hand side of the school, closing it behind her. She then Disillusioned herself and quietly made her way to the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom down the hall, from which the Defence Professor's office was accessible via a discreet staircase located at the far end of the classroom.

Once in the office, which smelled ever so slightly of garlic and sickness, Lucretia got to work. First she used her wand to draw a self-contained Exorcism Ward on the stone floor right in front of the disused cupboard in the corner, anchoring her work into the school's Ward scheme. The Ward would remain dormant until triggered by a possessed person stepping inside it, then after completing its purpose it would dissolve back into the Castle Wards, leaving no trace by which she could be identified as the caster. Unfortunately however Mr Quirrell was likely to die during the exorcism as Voldemort could only have taken up residence with his permission, so Lucretia needed to make it look like an accident. Hence why she had a Soul Trap containing a Boggart on her person.

"Expecto Patronum," she murmured, the silvery mongoose emerging from her wand and tilting its head at her quizzically. Keeping the spell active Lucretia opened the cupboard, placed the Soul Trap in front of it then snapped her fingers, breaking the Locking Enchantment keeping the Boggart imprisoned. Immediately the animated corpse of her husband lurched towards her and the patronus charged, knocking the Boggart into the cupboard. A flick of her wand slammed the cupboard door shut and locked, another swish ensured the door would only open once the Exorcism Ward activated. To anyone coming across the scene of Quirrell's demise it would appear as though the Boggart had frightened him to death.

Satisfied with her set-up, Lucretia –still Disillusioned– climbed the staircase back to the Defence classroom and let herself out onto the third floor corridor, heading around towards the Grand Staircase so she could cross to the corridor on the other side of the building. Getting across the Grand Staircase was easy despite the moving flights: she leapt from banister to banister assisted by the Feather-Light Charm, something she'd also done as a schoolgirl when out after curfew. Upon landing Lucretia removed the music box from her pocket, opened it then unlocked the door leading to the banned corridor.

There was indeed a Cerberus there; an immature one but still appreciably large. It was nodding off even as its eyes wandered about looking for her, growling sleepily as it settled itself in the limited space. Closing the door behind her, silently re-locking it and then casting the Imperturbable Charm so nobody would hear the music, Lucretia walked past the sleeping canine to investigate the trapdoor behind it.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later Lucretia was removing the Charm on the door, unlocking it and letting herself out, music box floating above her shoulder and a red, egg-shaped stone in her pocket. The Devil's Snare had taken her seconds to escape from, the Charmed door in the key room had not possessed Charmed hinges, the chess set had been easily flown over thanks to the brooms in the key room, the troll had been sleeping and the setup with the fiery doorways had been easily bypassed by a quick bit of rudimentary Runework. The stone had been sitting innocently on a pedestal in the next room so Lucretia had quickly transfigured a pebble in her pocket into a replica, Enchanted it to copy the original's odd magical signature then swapped the real and the fake around before retracing her steps. She wasn't sure what the pretty red rock was, but finding out would be an amusing way to pass the time until Dorea came home for Christmas.<p>

Having locked the door behind her Lucretia crossed the Grand Staircase once more and left the castle the same way she had entered it, having remained Disillusioned the entire time and escaped the notice of anyone or anything that might have betrayed her presence to the Headmaster. Not the Lucretia had anything against Dumbledore as a Transfiguration Master –his skills were formidable– but while he had been a capable educator he was a poor role model and utterly lacked any concept of discipline. He'd taught her Transfiguration when she'd been a girl and all the students had known that misbehaving in his class would get you a disappointed talking-to and maybe points lost, but no more than that. Punishment for getting caught after curfew could be wriggled out of too, so long as you acted contrite and made up an excuse that portrayed you as unhappy, struggling or led astray. The silly fool was so blinded by his desire to believe the best in everyone that he could be led into overlooking all manner of mischief. Serious disrespect Dumbledore had responded to by sending the culprit to Headmaster Dippet's office; as Dippet took any perceived challenges to his authority very seriously and did not hesitate to hand out severe punishments or send letters home to a miscreant's parents this ensured order in the classroom, but meant that no student of Dumbledore's had ever respected him. He was well-liked certainly, as he was perfectly affable, but Lucretia's more perceptive peers had deemed him ineffectual.

As a Headmaster his inability to hand out harsh punishments in response to severe misdemeanours was likely why Voldemort had not had any problem recruiting from the school in more recent decades, how bullying and prejudice had become rampant and why so many of the younger generation had no concept of responsible behaviour. And by 'younger generation' she meant her nephew Sirius's; some of his 'Marauder stories' would have gotten him rightfully caned under Dippet! Dumbledore was ruining their world's future with his ridiculous permissiveness and Lucretia was right behind her aunt in wanting him brought down from his positions of influence both in Hogwarts and in the government.

Leaving Hogsmeade village behind Lucretia collected her broom and summoned Filly, her house-elf, to take her home for a steaming bath and a mug of hot chocolate. She would get a nice long lie-in tomorrow morning, but with a bit of luck teatime would bring a letter from Dorea informing them all of Quirinus Quirrell's demise and the disappearance from Hogwarts of the wraith of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

* * *

><p>On her way to lunch on the morning after the Quidditch match Dorea was informed by the breathless Weasley Twins that Defence against the Dark Arts had been cancelled indefinitely due to Professor Quirrell having died suddenly after breakfast. According to the sixth-year Gryffindors who had gone looking for him he had expired after discovering a Boggart in his office cupboard. The sixth-years had encountered the Boggart before stumbling over the body and the combined experience had resulted in five students being taken to the hospital wing due to shock and hysteria. Fred seemed rather gleeful that something as pathetic as a Boggart had given the timid professor a heart attack while George seemed disgusted that someone so cowardly had been permitted to teach at all.<p>

Dorea found the whole thing something of a farce, but kept a politely straight face when Professor Dumbledore announced the 'tragic accident' over lunch and made use of the cancelled lesson to write to her family that Quirrell was no longer an issue so they didn't need to worry about her anymore. She was slightly disappointed that he had succumbed to ill-health before Papa or Great-Aunt Cassiopeia could do away with him, but she had learned a long time ago that real life was rarely as exciting or dramatic as story books were, so she did not complain. She did however strongly suspect that for the rest of the year Defence would involve a lot of self-study, with occasional spell-casting sessions overseen by one of the other professors' apprentices. Dumbledore was unlikely to be able to employ a teacher at such short notice, especially for a position which had not had any incumbent last more than a year since nineteen fifty-eight.

Somewhat ironically Quirrell's abrupt demise was still being talked about in mid-December, a week before the Christmas Holidays began, because nothing more interesting had happened in that time. Professor Dumbledore was looking somewhat stressed and had supervised a few Defence Lessons, but his overly familiar and jovial mask had not made him any friends in Slytherin and rather alienated Dorea's friends in other houses due to his utter disregard of proper manners. Hermione, who after reading all the etiquette books at least four times had taken to the system like a duck to water, was one of those more upset by how inappropriate the aged professor was being and even Nott had been interested by her description of what would happen to a Muggle teacher acting like that. Dorea felt that the Wizarding World could do with a few of those 'child protection laws', not to mention an official curriculum. It would make so many things so much simpler!

At least everything else was going well though: she had plenty of friends, was almost at the end of _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_, was getting much better at scrying –yes it really _was_ a Cerberus on the third floor, the poor trapped beastie– and her swordplay was apparently 'good enough' that Avery was now teaching her new moves every third week or so. Dorea intended to bring the next of Goshawk's basic textbooks to Hogwarts after the Christmas Holidays so they could get ahead and was enjoying the process of learning various jinxes and hexes from the Weasley Twins. Both older boys had a massive repertoire and a knack for creating new and unusual spells, something Dorea whole-heartedly admired. She had encouraged them to show off their creations to their uncle Ignatius Prewett, as Dorea knew her Aunt Lucretia's husband would find them tremendously amusing and offer a wealth of new ideas. Fred seemed thrilled but George had suggested they write first, just to make sure he wouldn't tell their mother. Dorea was getting better at telling the difference between the twins based on their behaviour, way of moving and appearance, but their voices were still ridiculously alike. Hopefully that would change in time.

In fact, the only blot on Dorea's week was Neville nervously informing Dorea that Weasley and his pals was convinced that Professor Snape was after whatever it was that was in the off-limits corridor and that the 'whatever it was' was connected to Nicholas Flamel. Being a well-educated girl, hearing 'Flamel' made Dorea think 'Alchemy', so she privately concluded that the item was meant to be the famed Philosopher's Stone. However she seriously doubted the _real_ Stone was down there, as she was pretty sure the only way to take it away from Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel was to pry it out of their cold, dead fingers. The Flamels predated the Statute of Secrecy by several centuries and had a house somewhere in Devon as their official British residence, but according to Great-Aunt Cassiopeia they actually spent most of the year in a modest French chateau near the Swiss border. Both were perfectly content with their lives and were sufficiently experienced to be able to see off anyone after their accumulated treasures.

This meant that Dumbledore was using a fake as bait in this farce and he was deliberately endangering the students in an attempt to draw out dark wizards and possibly even Voldemort himself, if her reaction to Quirrell had been any indication. Voldemort was no longer a problem –her forehead hadn't prickled since the Quidditch match– but there was no telling how many other power-hungry wizards might come calling. It was therefore with a pensive frown on her face that Dorea boarded the Hogwarts Express to go home for Christmas.

* * *

><p>Papa was waiting to greet her at the station and ran forward to swing her off her feet into a bear hug as soon as he saw her. Dorea hugged him back, tears prickling in her eyes as how much she'd missed him hit her all at once. How could she ever go back to Hogwarts after Christmas? But she had to and she was enjoying school <em>really<em>, so Dorea pushed the emotions away and demanded to be set back on her feet so she could introduce her new friends. Papa was very kind and friendly to Blaise, Hermione and Padma, and insisted on being introduced to their parents. Madame Zabini was very beautiful with very dark brown ringlets, fair skin with an olivine tinge to it, long-lashed hazel eyes and an incredible sense of presence that Blaise could have when he chose to. Most of the time Blaise preferred to fade into the background though, which he was remarkably good at for someone as pretty as he was; when Blaise grew up he might be handsome, but at the moment he was just adorable in a way that didn't feel quite normal. Dorea had suspected Veela heritage and seeing Madame Zabini confirmed it. Blaise's mother looked the same age as Papa and she was delighted to be invited to Black Manor for New Year: she had declined to visit sooner due to her and Blaise spending Christmas itself with her father in France.

Padma and Parvarti's parents were delighted to be approached by Lord Black and to hear that their younger daughter was part of said Lord's daughter's social circle; they instantly agreed that they would be delighted to allow Padma to visit Black Manor at any point during the holidays. The Patils were Hindu and did not celebrate either Winter Solstice or Christmas, though they participated in the exchange of gifts that had become a universal staple of the season. Papa insisted they celebrate Christmas in a vaguely religious manner at home because Dorea's mother had been a Christian and had considered her magic a divine gift rather than a reason to abandon her faith, so Dorea was somewhat familiar with Christianity and what it entailed. Reconciling magic and faith was rather tricky, but the witches mentioned in the bible as 'unGodly' had been doing things like necromancy and divination, so Dorea resolved to avoid both as that was what was clearly proscribed against. She could have faith that God would take care of her future and not go poking her nose into things human beings weren't meant to get involved with. Arithmancy did have a Divination component, but Dorea was more interested in its use in spell creation, rituals and how it related to astronomical cycles. Predicting when the weather would change was more science than magic and most of Arithmancy was patterns and probability. She just had to remember that where people were concerned numbers were not reliable, because people had souls and souls made them special.

Hermione's parents were a pair of comfortably middle-class dentists and Papa immediately ingratiated himself to them by providing them with the address of his Muggle PO box and telling them he would be delighted to reply to any queries they had concerning magic, Hogwarts or the society their daughter was joining. Hemera was the Omen Owl responsible for collecting the post from the PO box, which she did with an uncanny understanding of when there was post to be collected. When Papa then asked if Hermione would be allowed to visit during the holidays her parents agreed at once and were even more delighted when he invited them along too so they could see more of the Magical world.

Papa already knew Dee and Trey's parents and had arranged for them to visit over Christmas as well. Dorea was looking forward to having friends over and just having fun with them.


	18. Chapter 18

Beta'd by the redoubtable InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of gifts and moving forwards<strong>

Dorea spent the first day of her Christmas holidays riding Lark around the estate, delighting in the thrill of being airborne and showing her Aethonian that her time away had not diminished her riding skills in the slightest. On the second day of the holidays she wrote a list of all her friends and relatives by category of how close they were and assigning them gifts they would like. As Papa had approved of her idea of bringing Hermione's family under the wing of the Blacks, Dorea felt she should give them a family gift in addition to a personal one for Hermione. The best possible gift would be an owl, as without one the Grangers were completely isolated from the Wizarding World. However any owl would have to be acceptable to the Omen Owls, which meant taking Moros with her to Eelops Owl Emporium, which could go very badly indeed. Moros could easily take offense at her purchasing a bird for any number of reasons, so she'd have to explain things to him first. Bribery might be required.

Getting Hermione a book for Christmas would be a cop-out, so Dorea was going to buy something the other girl would never buy for herself and likely didn't even realise existed; Hermione was very new to Magical Culture after all. Picking out something suitable would be tricky but fun and Dorea liked shopping. Zee would also be tricky to buy for as he was now a close friend, Dee and Trey she knew very well so would be easier, Neville would get a copy of the animal ingredients textbook Dorea found so useful, Padma would get something pretty and Sally-Anne, Pavarti, Roger and her other acquaintances would get sweets or trivialities. The Weasley Twins deserved something fun, but Higgs and Avery would each get something simple but classy that conveyed her appreciation of everything they did for her. Her cousins had all intimated to her what they would like –in general terms– several weeks ago, so they were easy to shop for. Dorea liked buying people things they either wanted very much, or didn't know about and would love as soon as they saw. Surprising people with thoughtful gifts was one of her chief pleasures and she intended to know everybody's birthday by the end of the school year so they'd all get gifts from her in second year.

On the third day of the Christmas holidays Dorea dressed appropriately, convinced her father that he could spend the time she was shopping sitting in Theodosia's tea shop with his urgent paperwork just as easily as he could sit at home, made sure she had her lists and set out on her shopping expedition, amused parent in tow. For a Magical child being eleven was the first step to adulthood, marking the age you were old enough for a wand. The next step was thirteen, when you could shop and visit friends without an adult present, hence why Hogsmeade trips were only allowed starting in third year as before that children were not considered responsible enough to exercise sense and restraint while shopping. Next was fifteen, when you could marry, followed by seventeen, when you were old enough to work. Ironically a married witch or wizard was considered adult regardless of actual age, which was why those witches who married right after taking their OWLs rarely returned to Hogwarts. After all, they didn't really need to and after OWLs you were recognised as a competent witch. Papa being at the tea shop meant he was technically chaperoning her even though she would be buying without him being present.

Dorea's first stop in Diagon was Fairbourne's, which sold quality jewellery. There was another jewellers that sold fashion and costume jewellery, but Dorea despised Madam Belinda's Boutique as everything in it looked cheap. Some of it was the height of fashion and featured in _Witch Weekly_, but that didn't make it look any less tasteless. The selection in Madam Belinda's front window proved that fashion and class were two completely different things. Fairbourne's may have been the kind of jewellers where nothing was priced because if you had to ask you couldn't afford it, but most of its pieces were tasteful, classic designs which could be worn forever and never be out of place. It did have a limited fashion selection as well, but most of the business's money came from custom work for the discerning wizard, either by making unique pieces or by Enchanting existing pieces to personal specifications. Dorea estimated that a good half of her late great-grandmother's jewellery had come from Fairbourne's, which had been established in Diagon since the early seventeenth century. The family had been making jewellery long before then, since the Middle Ages in fact, but in Hatton Garden, London's jewellery district.

It took Dorea well over an hour to come to a few tentative decisions, but eventually settled for asking Mr L. Fairbourne to set a few pieces aside for her while she shopped elsewhere, which he was happy to do. With the jewellery in mind, Dorea then moved on to Devine Specialties, a shop which sold just about everything that wasn't sold anywhere else in the alley. From obscure items like map cases to everyday but strictly licensed ones like Floo Powder, Devine's had it. It was on two storeys, with the more common items downstairs and the upstairs being dedicated to unusual stock, a lot of which was of foreign origin. Dorea loved shopping there as she was guaranteed to find something unusual and Mr Devine was always very helpful and forthcoming about everything he had in stock. Dorea ended up buying a pair of Enchanted spectacles than enabled her to see invisible objects –she could finally read _The Invisible Book of Invisibility_– a reading light which only gave light to the owner –some Ravenclaw had managed to replicate the innate magic of a Hand of Glory without the gory illegality of an actual severed hand– a book titled _The Power of Water_ which contained both the original Latin text and its English translation side-by-side, a memory bottle, a set of Creature miniatures which could be set to guard small items from theft, a large box of feather charms which would absorb curses when worn and three dream catchers. All this fitted easily in her bag considering its enchantments, so Dorea went right on to Quality Quidditch Supplies where she bought a few golden snitches –Omen Owls _loved_ snitches– and two slightly different sets of professional quality Beater's gauntlets for the Twins.

Now that Dorea had on hand a suitable bribe for Moros she moved out of the main thoroughfare and thought hard about needing the owl that had chosen to deliver her post. She'd barely been doing so for ten seconds when a demanding hoot from above alerted her to his presence; if she'd had any doubts about Omen Owl prescience they would have been silenced. Dorea let him perch on her shoulder and explained her situation to him as she made her way towards Eelops.

"As the Family is supporting Hermione I need to buy her family a present to cement the relationship," she said softly, "which means I have to buy them something that will make their daughter's integration into Magical society easier. The best gift would be an owl, but as she's going to be writing to me a lot of the time it has to be an owl that you and the others won't savage on principle. Therefore I need to buy the Grangers a _superior_ owl, which I need your help for."

Moros fluffed his feathers self-importantly, which suggested he'd been persuaded. Dorea was relieved that bribery had proved unnecessary and cautiously raised a hand to cover the owl's claws as she entered the Emporium, her eyes dancing around at all the caged birds present. There were owls of all breeds and sizes, mostly European types but a few more exotic birds here and there, like the barking owl behind the counter and the morepork sleeping up in the rafters. Moros made a deep, hooting sound of evident disapproval at how loud the place was, which had the happy effect of silencing every last bird in the place for several seconds. The silence attracted the attention of the proprietor who, when Dorea explained what she was after, was happy to point out his 'pickier owls' for her to choose from. She and Moros eventually settled for a snowy owl with a touch of the black scalloping on the feathers common to the females of that breed. While a very showy bird, the owl had a glint of genuine intelligence in her eyes that was what Dorea had been hoping for. Paying for the owl and buying the necessary basic supplies for her care and upkeep, Dorea set off back to Theodosia's where she'd left Papa, as there was no way she could put an owl in her Expanded bag. For one it would be rude.

After a tea break and elevensies Dorea set out again, Moros having been left behind at the tea shop since Papa wanted to send some letters and the owl had volunteered himself. She went next to the shoemakers, having decided that the best present for Hermione would be a pair of high quality black leather ankle boots for her to wear around Hogwarts. Wizarding footwear was much more comfortable that the Muggle equivalent, as they came with Fitting Charms that conformed the inside of the shoe to the shape of the foot. The fitting Charms also allowed for a little growth, so Hermione probably wouldn't need new ones for well over a year. Dorea intended to order Ever-Shine Enchantments as well, so the boots would always look pristine. The best Wizarding shoes and ankle boots were fastened with buckles, which could be bought and enchanted separately and came in only three sizes, so even if your feet were growing you could keep the same buckles for many years. There were Baby Buckles, which went on children's shoes and could also be used as side buckles on taller boots, Lady Buckles which went on all girls' shoes more than eight inches long and Gentle Buckles which went on men's shoes more than nine inches long. Muggle lace-up shoes were gradually gaining popularity –as the Shoelace-Tying Charm showed– but buckled shoes and boots were still the most fashionable option for the wealthy. Dorea intended to buy the simplest possible buckles, which would give Hermione the opportunity to buy others at a later date if she so desired. What with how focused her new friend was on books, Dorea rather doubted she'd realised yet that wearing stylish clothing had a charm all of its own.

Shoes ordered, Dorea moved on to Prettybone Stationers to order personalised high-quality parchment and envelopes for her own correspondence, a few different sets of the less expensive but more appealing decorated stationary, a selection of the more cheerful ink colours and six very pretty macaw feather quills. She then stopped by the apothecary for the ingredients of the potions she intended to brew over the holidays –only two of which were intended as gifts– dropped into Madam Primpernelle's for more soap and hair-care products then returned to Fairbourne's to make her final choice on jewellery. Once each piece had been carefully boxed and wrapped Dorea used her vault key to authorise the cheque then returned to the tea shop, hungry but triumphant. She had gifts for everyone! Well, she hadn't bought sweets yet but those were better owl-ordered, as that way they came boxed. She would do that tomorrow, so she would have time to wrap them before they needed to be delivered.

Upon seeing her Papa shook his head in amusement and informed her that they were going home for lunch, as Great-Aunt Cassiopeia wanted to talk to her about her progress in scrying. That reminded Dorea of the Cerberus in the school and she resolved to ask her great-aunt if there was anything that could be done about it. Dogs needed taking for walks, after all; Papa liked walks too, if only for the opportunity to be silly without anybody judging him.

* * *

><p>Dorea spent Christmas in cheerfully riotous celebration with her British cousins, who all –except for Draco– descended on Black Manor on the twenty-third of December and departed on the twenty-seventh. Richard and Dora got teased by everyone over their continued dating, though Dora quietly told Dorea on Christmas Eve that they probably wouldn't so on seeing each-other for much longer.<p>

"He's really nice," the older girl explained, "but he's family and we think of each-other as family more than we do as being girlfriend and boyfriend."

Dorea then teased her eldest girl cousin about breaking poor Richard's heart until Dora hit her around the head with a pillow.

Christmas Day may have been a time of opening presents, eating fabulous food and messing about under Papa's benevolent eye, but Boxing Day was ruled by Great-Aunt Cassiopeia and the writing of thank-you letters. Dorea found it a chore, but it was less tedious than writing thank-you letters after her birthday so she tended to hurry through it before lunchtime. Her birthdays were rather more public affairs and some families considered the gift-giving to be a contest for her favour, which required very careful handling to prevent misunderstandings. Boxing Day letters were far easier. Her boy cousins however moaned and procrastinated, so they often found themselves banned from eating Tansy's magnificent Christmas cake until they had completed their correspondence to their great-aunt's satisfaction.

Dorea got a tiny pair of ruby and sterling silver stud earrings from Hermione, proving that the Muggleborn girl really _had_ memorised that rather complicated book of Wizarding etiquette she had read after the 'acclimatisation books' Tracy had recommended, a silk scarf from Tracy herself, a charm bracelet from Daphne, a book of Italian spells from Blaise, gold hoop earrings from Padma, a book of Greenhouse Wards from Neville, sweets or chocolate from her other Hogwarts friends and a selection of books, concert tickets and hairclips from her cousins. The hairclips were almost a gag gift, except that Dorea's vigorous curls resisted them at every opportunity and shed them whenever possible, despite Dorea religiously washing her hair with Madam Primpernelle's Curl-Taming Shampoo and Conditioner twice a week. As a result Dorea was always short of hairclips and always asked for them, preferably in complementary colours and sets of four or six so it wouldn't matter if she lost some. Being a partial Metamorphagus didn't help Dorea there, as her hair curled in response to her mood and was more incorrigibly curly the more content she was.

However her absolute favourite present was from Papa who gave her a bright green boomslang as a pet, informing her cheerily that it had taken him this long to get the Board of Governors to issue a licence for her as poisonous snakes were classed as an 'exotic' pet. Dorea had been delighted with her new pet and had promptly named him Ophis, which the quiet and indolent serpent expressed a liking for. It was very challenging for Dorea to avoid speaking parsletongue in public when she had an amusingly astute snake commenting occasionally from where he was curled around her shoulders. Ophis knew she understood him too, which made him worse. Papa also taught her to renew the Warming Ward he had placed on Ophis so the snake wouldn't freeze to death in a Scottish castle during winter. Warming Charms didn't last very long but the Ward would last for days at a time, so she might be able to cast it on her bed to keep the covers warm. A Warming Ward wouldn't work on the room itself, as they were only effective on living tissue and fabrics. To raise the temperature of stone a Heating Ward was necessary and those were both considerably more powerful and more prone to misfiring if improperly drawn.

In the time between Christmas and New Year Dorea received thank-you letters from her own friends, followed by a spate of visits. Hermione's parents had visited with her, first in an attempt to return the owl –whom Hermione had named Hedwig, after a witch in her history book– then to chat with Dorea's father and learn about Wizarding society and culture. Dorea had been able to introduce Hermione to the Aethonians, which Hermione had enjoyed riding only slightly more than she did brooms. The Muggleborn girl did admit that flying on a properly tacked up winged horse did feel much safer than a broom though, so Dorea was hopeful. Padma also visited with her mother, which had been a fun day because quiet as she was Padma was nowhere near as bookishly oblivious as Hermione. They'd spent the day trying on old-fashioned robes they had found in various far-flung wardrobes about the Manor, doing each-other's hair and finding out how to wear the contents of Dorea's jewellery box. Lots of pictures were taken of their exploits, which was part of the fun really.

Blaise, Daphne and Tracy all visited at the same time, which since Papa had messed with the Estate's enchantments to make it snow resulted in a massive three-way snowball fight involving her friends' parents, her Papa, her, her friends and several of the younger Stewarts. All in all, Dorea was a little sad to be going back to school but was still looking forward to it. Part of her anticipation was a rather cruel curiosity concerning the Headmaster, as over Christmas Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had launched her attack and informed the School Governors that there was currently a Cerberus _inside_ the castle, separated from the students by a single door that could easily be opened using the Unlocking Charm, which was actually _taught_ in first year. The fallout had been fairly dramatic as the whole troll business had also been made public and Rita Skeeter had clearly had a field day, but Dumbledore had managed to remain in charge of Hogwarts. The Cerberus had apparently been relocated over New Year to a more suitable location and the third-floor corridor reopened, with many assurances that the Wards had been examined and no more dangerous beasts would be getting into the Castle. Dorea privately didn't believe a word of it, but one could hope. The Cerberus certainly hadn't been there by chance and had been well-cared for during its stay, so it had definitely been there for a reason. Possibly it had been guarding a fake Philosopher's Stone, if her guesses were correct.

* * *

><p>After his daughter had gone back to school Sirius sat down with Remus, Ted Tonks and his aunt and uncle and together they downed several bottles of Firewhiskey in celebration of the exorcism of Voldemort and to suppress their collective horror at how terrifyingly careless Dumbledore was of the lives in his care. Seriously, possessed teachers, three-headed dogs and bogus magical artefacts? Had the man gone senile? Lucretia didn't think so and her slightly tipsy explanation still made sense the next morning, so Sirius was inclined to give the old codger the benefit of the doubt. According to Auntie Lulu, Dumbledore had spent so long having everyone treat his opinions as sovereign truth he had come to think of himself as the ultimate authority in everything, so when faced with things he <em>didn't<em> know how to deal with rather than ask for help or seek other people's opinions he tried to come up with a plan by himself. This resulted in really stupid decisions that were allowed to stand because everyone else was so sure Dumbledore had to be right that they never challenged them. It was therefore, Uncle Iggy had proclaimed loudly, their _duty_ to loudly and publicly question the old fool's decisions when they were obviously rotten. If Dumbledore then couldn't or wouldn't defend his choices they had to act against him, because if he wouldn't tell them the truth then the truth _really_ needed uncovering.

This appealed to Sirius' inner Marauder, though said Marauder had mostly retired now as parenting was wearing it down. Parenting was _hard_, and not just because raising a little girl had highlighted to him over a thousand times what a prejudiced, cowardly, bullying git he'd been as a kid. He really didn't want his daughter getting up to the kinds of things he'd done as a student: she might get hurt! Remus found his internal conflict highly amusing and was constantly pointing out that Dorea was far calmer, smarter and better educated than Sirius had been at that age, so why was he so worried? Sirius firmly maintained that the good behaviour was all a front: his Dorry-Rose was going to surpass him in mayhem and nobody –except him– was ever going to see it coming.

Hopefully not this year or any time soon, but his Dorry-Rose took far too much after Great-Aunt Cassie and Auntie Lulu for there _not_ to be large-scale mayhem somewhere down the line.


	19. Chapter 19

Beta'd by the superb InsaneScriptist.

* * *

><p><strong>Of constantly adjusting to change<strong>

Less than a week after returning to Hogwarts Dorea's new pet had been re-christened 'Fizz', which while far less dignified than the boomslang's original name was the one he had decided he would respond to exclusively. Dorea adapted, used her Christmas present from the Weasley twins to prank Tracy for coming up with the silly moniker and reassured her shy, height-loving snake that she didn't mind the change that much. Fizz didn't like large groups of people and preferred to curl himself up well out of sight and reach of noisy humans, which led to him claiming as his own the tops of bookshelves, heads of statues and similar decorative features. He also liked wrapping himself around Dorea's shoulders under her robes, as he was warm and safe there.

Owning a snake meant Dorea spoke a lot more parseltongue than she had in her first term and that she noticed when the voices she was hearing from paintings in the hallways were hissing rather than talking normally. She took note of which paintings these were and their location –there were considerably more of them in the dungeons– and resolved to learn a Privacy Charm so she could investigate them more closely without being overheard and giving her ability away. That took her most of a fortnight, by which point she'd located a lot of paintings of snakes, several serpentine statues and tapestries that responded to parseltongue and a portrait in one of the larger unused dungeon classrooms that claimed to be of Salazar Slytherin. Finding that last one was a bit of a shock –Wizarding portraiture hadn't really become widespread until the fifteenth century– but oil painting had been known in Europe as early as the eleventh century, so it was possible that Slytherin had managed to either discover for himself –or meet a wizard who knew– how to animate paintings and had his likeness made. The wrinkled features and long white beard suggested he'd sat for the painting late in life, after he was supposed to have left the school, so the presence of the portrait was anachronistic unless he'd snuck back in years later and hung it there to spite the other founders.

After learning a simple Privacy Charm Dorea began investigating the snake paintings –some of which were incredibly subtle as the snakes were often hidden in apparent still-life compositions– and discovered that they hid a network of hidden passages and listening posts only accessible to parselmouths. Actually exploring these was trickier, as Dorea didn't want to give her secret away to her friends –at least not yet– so she had to arrange times when said friends were busy or sleeping. Her invisibility cloak helped her there, though she had to be careful to scan herself for spells beforehand. The cloak had an odd magic to it that prevented any kind of spell from sticking to her if it was cast at her while she was under it but pre-existing spells remained, Tracking Charms included. This explained how Papa had managed to avoid several of her Christmas pranks this year, which was irritating but educational. Dorea learned that it was very easy to move a Tracking Charm to one of the feather curse-catchers she'd bought before Christmas –she'd only given some of them away– and took to wearing a few in her hair at all times to prevent other unwanted spells being cast on her person. Spells stuck to the curse-catchers preferentially, as that was how the charms were designed, making them highly useful little accessories no matter how oddly people looked at her for wearing feathers in her hair.

Invisibly exploring the secret parsel-passages gave Dorea a much better idea of the school's layout and how it was divided up, as well as enabling her to overhear a lot more than she probably should have done. She suspected Slytherin had created these hidden corridors and spy-holes after returning to the school long after his argument. He might even have remained in the school until he died, hidden by the language-locked magic that would have prevented the other founders from so much as realising his additions existed. Maybe there was some truth to the stories of the Chamber of Secrets after all…

* * *

><p>By early February Dorea had started to be aware of her own progress in the art of Swordsmanship, or would that be 'Swordswomanship'? Whichever it was she was improving, which was a relief considering she'd been learning for over a year now. She spent two nights a week in the Little Hall practicing stances in front of a mirror alongside Theo Nott, who was the only other swordsman in her year, and Saturday mornings sparring against Avery. The latter always left her black and blue despite her practice armour and the older boy was merciless in hammering home the importance of complete control and effortless perfection when wielding a blade, live or not. The Bloody Baron occasionally drifted over to critique their respective performances, which was how Dorea had found out that Avery's current challenge on the road to Mastery was teaching: his manner with her was as heavily scrutinised as her own progress. Thankfully his success was in no way dependent on her, but it made Dorea realise that Mr Rookwood really had been doing Avery a favour when he introduced her to the older boy. Without the opportunity Mr Rookwood had provided Avery could not have hoped to advance beyond simply being a swordsman, as Mastery required so much more than mere proficiency.<p>

Dorea was benefitting also, as without a tutor she could not have kept up her lessons in the art of the sword through the school year and she was inordinately grateful that she had been sorted into Slytherin: without access to the private duelling halls she and Avery would have been forced to make use of Hogwarts' armoury like the other non-Slytherin combat students. The Armoury was not remotely private and carried the risk of discovery by the Headmaster, who would severely disapprove if he had known that a subject that had not been on the official school curriculum for over two centuries was still being taught.

Swordsmanship was not the only subject to have survived this way: several of the other school ghosts continued various classes for the students of their former houses. Hufflepuff's Fat Friar taught Healing to those badgers who were interested, Sir Nicholas of Gryffindor taught European languages –Latin, Greek, French, Spanish and German– though so few of his house were interested in extracurricular classes that most of his pupils were ravens and the Grey Lady taught those of her house –_only_ those of her house– about dowsing, scrying and other specialised kinds of magic useful for finding things. Dorea only knew about these lessons' existence because of her family connections in both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, though it had been interesting to learn that Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had learned to scry from her mother Violetta Bulstrode, who had been in Ravenclaw and had studied under the Grey Lady.

Dorea's current schedule was too full for her to attend the language classes, she could not attend the Grey Lady's due to being sorted into the 'wrong' house and while the cousin of a former Hufflepuff, she wasn't particularly close to any current badger, so learning about Healing would have to wait. Dorea was in this instance perfectly happy to wait: learning to use a sword was by far the most challenging thing she was doing at Hogwarts and she wanted to have a solid grasp of it before she attempted to expand her after-hours activities any further.

* * *

><p>On the second of April Dorea was cornered by the Weasley Twins.<p>

"Dorea dearest," Fred started, him tone suggesting that she would need to tread _very_ carefully to get out of the trap being laid, "you have slighted us!"

"Wounded us cruelly with your callous indifference!" George went on dramatically.

"How could we possibly have deserved–"

"–such a blow?"

"What exactly is it that I am supposed to have done?" the eleven-year-old asked warily, Fizz stirring uneasily within the high collar of her uniform robes.

"You forgot our birthday!" the twins chorused.

"Neither of you told me when it was," Dorea responded cautiously, "nor am I close enough to any of your immediate family for them to volunteer the information to me. Upon my own birthday I sent you an invitation to my party a good six weeks in advance; you have only yourselves to blame for my ignorance." She steeled herself for any possible reaction, wand hidden in her sleeve in case things turned nasty.

George sagged. "I didn't think you'd fall for it," he admitted candidly, "and the party was in the Gryffindor Common Room after curfew, so you wouldn't have attended anyway."

"An invitation would still have been polite if you had actually _wanted_ me to attend," Dorea insisted coolly, "so that I could refuse in person. You know this. _Why_ were you trying to trick me?"

Fred shifted uneasily. Dorea stared at him evenly until the shifting turned into all-out squirming. Fred was the one who had the nastier prank ideas and was slightly crueller than his twin; George was actually a moderating influence. She had no idea how most people could completely fail to tell the two boys apart; they weren't truly identical physically and their personalities were genuinely distinct.

"Sorry?" Fred eventually managed with an apologetic grimace. "We wanted your help with a prank on the older snakes."

"You could have asked," Dorea pointed out neutrally.

The way the twins exchanged glances indicated that they knew she wouldn't have agreed of her own free will, suggesting that the planned prank was more mean than amusing. She decided to change the subject:

"Why have your birthday party in the Gryffindor Common Room when there are so many empty classrooms available? You could have invited loads of people from other houses and made a real event of it."

The disconcertingly similar-looking redhead blinked at her, then turned slowly to stare at each-other. "Why did we never–" George asked plaintively.

"–think of that?" Fred finished, caught between disgruntlement and awe. "Darling Dorea, you are entirely forgiven: _that_ is the best birthday present _ever_."

"Please don't suggest it to anyone else until after our next party? We'll send you an invite and everything," George cajoled her, clasping his hands in front of his chest as though in prayer.

"I promise, so long as your next party is within the year," Dorea agreed. "You know, if enough people come to your party there will be too many of you for the teachers to supervise detention for if you get caught. So it would just be points lost and if you get about equal numbers of guests from each house that wouldn't really matter in the long run." She'd put quite a bit of thought into this, wanting to set up shared parties on special occasions with all of her friends regardless of house at some point in the future.

The twins exchanged delightedly evil grins. "Best birthday present ever," they repeated in chorus, then swooped in and hugged her fiercely before dashing off down the corridor.

Dorea stared after them in mild confusion. Gryffindors were _strange_.

* * *

><p>By mid-May Dorea and her coterie –a new word provided by Cousin Patricia– were halfway through <em>The Standard Book of Spells (Grade Two)<em> and Hermione had discovered the existence of _Transfiguration Expanded_, which had nearly caused a major upset. Ruffled feathers had successfully been smoothed though and their little group was now practicing Transfiguration as well as Charms in preparation for the end-of-year exams. Dorea didn't actually think they needed to study for the tests, but Hermione was all in a tizzy and working with the over-achieving Muggleborn girl gave them more opportunities to curb her excesses. As it was Dorea was keeping her history, runes and scrying texts well out of sight, so as not to provoke another meltdown. While the various stories that had run in the _Daily Prophet_ had severely shaken Hermione's faith in the Headmaster's worthiness as an authority figure, she still took her school work far too seriously.

Neville was still not doing all that well at learning spells, but the book Dorea had given him for Christmas had helped him immensely in Potions and his now established habit of meticulous note-taking was improving his performance in his other studies. His confidence was improving too and he was starting to come out of his shell and assert his own opinions rather than just go with what Roger decided. His fellow Gryffindor seemed quite delighted by the change and was always happy to change plans accordingly. Sally-Anne and her friend Fay drifted in and out of the study group, spending half their time with the other Gryffindor girls instead of Dorea's circle, but they didn't seem to mind not knowing as many spells or being as good as the others. Dorea guessed they weren't motivated, which she didn't understand personally but recognised was a problem for some people.

None of the Ravenclaws lacked motivation, the pursuit of knowledge being its own reward for them, and aimless Slytherins were few and far between. Dorea's friends may have rolled their eyes at Hermione's obsessiveness but they'd picked up a strong work ethic simply by proximity and would all do very well come exam time. Dorea herself had actually stopped revising the previous week, having grown bored of it, and was mostly doing recreational reading. The _Invisible Book of Invisibility_ had lasted her all through February, March and April, but by the beginning of May she had achieved all the spells she currently had the background for and had been forced to temporarily set it aside. She was now alternating between reading _Warding as Language_,the new Rune book Aunt Lucretia had sent her and the fascinating and slightly disturbing little volume that had come with a letter from Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, titled _The Darkness Within_. The former was several inches thick but very readable, while the latter was thin but very hard to progress through due to the difficulty of the concepts involved. Dorea was certain she could never have got past the first page of _The Darkness Within_ without the strong degree of self-awareness imparted by a thorough grounding in Occlumency and suspected that understanding this little book was absolutely vital to being Heiress Black. Papa did his best, but he had admitted that he could only go so far with the Family Grimoires due to his fraught upbringing and experiences in Azkaban. Dorea on the other hand was being properly groomed as future Lady Black so she could raise her sons-to-be accordingly.

In truth, Papa was more of a Potter than he was a Black, at least in Magical matters. He had less trouble with the Potter Grimoires, could explain and demonstrate their contents and was able to supervise Dorea's practical sessions without turning a hair. However when it came to actually practicing Black Family magic he preferred to leave his daughter to Great-Aunt Cassiopeia or Aunt Lucretia, claiming that he didn't want his unfamiliarity with the subject matter to affect Dorea's education. It was in those moments that Dorea missed Grandpa the most, as he had been the one who had started teaching her Family magic, not that she'd realised that was what it was until after he died. All those debates, the wand-movements for various silent spells, the books on wandless magic… it was her heritage, her inheritance and her future. Papa knew it, but he couldn't really _do_ it. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia could do it, but she was old and frail and so not as strong as she had been even a few years ago. Aunt Lucretia had been less interested in power and more focused on ritual, so her knowledge was different to what Dorea had been learning. No less interesting, but not something she had the experience or the strength to use just yet.

Dorea was starting to get tired of 'not yet' and sincerely hoped it wouldn't last much longer. She was going to be twelve soon and had grown over one and a half inches taller since her eleventh birthday; even with the Hogwarts house-elves letting down the hems of her uniform robes and the in-built Fitting Charms she was going to need new uniforms in the coming autumn. She'd also gone up two whole shoe sizes in less than twelve months, which was somewhat alarming really. None of the shoes in her wardrobe at home would fit anymore! Admittedly the prospect of new shoes was a very attractive one, but Dorea was rightfully concerned that this was only the beginning of her growth spurt. Papa was rather tall, not exceptionally so, but still tall. Her mother had been about average in height but most of the female Blacks were significantly _above_ average, with Aunt Lucretia being five foot eight and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia having been five foot ten in her youth, though she was shorter than Aunt Lucretia now due to having shrunk with age. Dorea was pretty sure she was doomed to unnatural altitude and was somewhat wistfully hoping for a nice _tall_ wizard she could marry once she was old enough: she wanted a husband she could look up to!

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><p>Sitting on the train as it sped down the track on its way to London, Dorea idly stroked Fizz –who had grown a good eight inches since Christmas– and immersed herself in her Runes book. She was rather looking forward to the summer holidays despite the homework they'd been given, particularly since Hermione would be going to France with her parents and Dorea herself had been invited to visit Uncle Eduard in Bordeaux. Then there was Daphne wanting to learn duelling, Tracy's developing interest in Healing and Blaise's insistence that they all let him visit them for as long as possible, given his mother's recent engagement to a German wizard their friend hadn't even met yet. Padma would be visiting family in India and had promised to write and bring back gifts, Neville had promised to join Dorea on a trip to Kew Gardens and the Weasley twins had somehow persuaded their mother to let them stay with Uncle Ignatius for a month over the summer, which would probably be very exciting so long as you weren't caught in the crossfire.<p>

All in all, Dorea had rather enjoyed her first year at Hogwarts once the whole Quirrell mess had been sorted out.


	20. Chapter 20

Beta'd by the tenacious InsaneScriptist.

After this chapter I will no longer be updating on Sundays, so in future I will get a day off.

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><p><strong>Of fun and funerals<strong>

Dorea's summer had been incredibly varied and rather wonderful, so much so that part of her was reluctant to so much as go to Diagon Alley to buy new books and school uniforms, for fear of ruining it all. But most of her recognised that enjoying the coming school year wouldn't make most of the past one-and-a-half months of holiday any less incredibly enjoyable.

Barely two days after returning home from Hogwarts Dorea had been whisked off to France by Papa and Uncle Remus, where she had spent a week in Bordeaux with Uncle Eduard and Aunt Antoinette. One of those days had been spent exploring Chateau Blac, which was a magnificent castle surrounded by immense grounds and some of the finest vineyards in Aquitaine, all Unplottable and heavily Warded to keep 'undesirables' out. This was where the House of Black had originally come from, having moved to England at the time of Henry II to expand their influence. When the Hundred Years' War had made England's hold on Aquitaine precarious, the Blacks had simply warded their French estate so viciously that no-one save the Lord Black could ever find it, much less attempt to attack. It was French wine from Chateau Blac that the family's wealth had been founded upon, that and the ruthless martial and magical skill of many successive generations of Blacks in the service of the Dukes of Aquitaine and later the Kings of England, up until Richard the third's death had brought Henry Tudor to the throne. The Blacks had then retired quietly from court politics and turned their eyes wholly to the Wizarding world, investing their wealth and reaping the benefits of their battle prowess on a less open stage.

The Blacks owned a lot of Unplottable land in Britain rented out to Herbology greenhouses, Creature farms, mines and other Wizarding businesses, as well as almost half of the buildings on Diagon Alley and the neighbouring Horizont Alley as well as about two-thirds of Knockturn. Then there were the holdings abroad: the French Castle, a massive chunk of African savannah that was the native habitat of a breeding population of Nundu, an Indian tea plantation, houses in just about every major magical settlement on the planet, a large area of Australian outback that the Aborigines outright avoided and an entire Caribbean island, all under the most violently paranoid wards known to Black. Papa spent quite a bit of his time writing to the managers of the various estates and visiting them on an irregular basis to keep everyone on their toes, following the sentiment that 'trust was good; control was better'. Most of the larger Estates were actually accessible to the public, the African Estate in particular as it was the home of a lot of dangerous magical wildlife and was therefore open to tourist safaris. The Creature populations were carefully managed and regularly culled for potion ingredients, though there was an occasional poacher problem. Those however were always swiftly resolved: the Black Wards may have been as lax as was possible for them to get, but that didn't mean that thieves would be permitted to escape alive, or even be identifiable afterwards. Often identification wasn't possible due to the wildlife getting to the body first.

After visiting Bordeaux and Chateau Blac Dorea then spent a week in Paris, exploring the arrondissement magique's clothing boutiques, jewellery stores, bookshops and cafes. Dorea also met Hermione there, as her parents were taking her all around the country over the summer. It was nice to spend time with a school-friend outside Hogwarts, but she kept having to drag the older girl out of bookshops and they had a serious argument over the essays assigned as holiday homework on their third day together which upset Hermione to the point that Dorea didn't get to see her again before returning to England.

The essay argument had rather exemplified the fundamental differences between the two girls: Hermione felt that an essay should contain _all_ the information she could dig up on the subject, while Dorea insisted that, since their teachers had specified what length they wanted the essay to be, that count should not be exceeded. Hermione had been outraged at the prospect of Leaving Things Out –how would the teacher know you'd studied _properly_ if you didn't mention everything? – while Dorea had countered that the teachers had to mark _all_ the essays of all the year groups after they returned to Hogwarts, so going over the length count would only irritate the marker and carry the risk of the teacher scouring a line across the essay at the cut-off point and ignoring everything underneath it. That was, after all, what Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had done if she wrote too much on her history assignments before going to Hogwarts. The idea of such a thing had offended Hermione to the very core of her being and she and Dorea had been forced to separate before the matter came to blows; Papa and Hermione's parents didn't take the argument very seriously but had decided that it would be better for both girls to get a chance to cool down and consider the matter before meeting up again. Both Hermione and Dorea had been first made to apologise for any rudeness and offence they may have caused the other though. Uncle Remus had listened patiently to her rant about how Hermione was being silly and then informed her gently that they could still be friends despite having 'irreconcilable differences': they just had to agree to disagree. Dorea however didn't want to do that: she knew she was right!

Unfortunately being right was a rather cold comfort in the absence of friends, so Dorea was not too sad when the week came to an end and she had to return to Black Manor for the fortnight leading up to her birthday. Those two weeks were spent getting her homework out of the way, riding Lark, practicing her swordplay –Avery visited three times a week– trawling the libraries in search of new and interesting books she now had sufficient magical grounding to understand and mucking about with Zee, who had tumbled through the Floo on the second morning after her return from France and begged sanctuary away from his mother's wedding mania and rather sinister giddiness at her upcoming honeymoon. Papa had obliged on the condition that Blaise write a letter to his mother telling her where he was, and that he _would_ be going home for the wedding itself. The dark, curly-headed boy had agreed at once and scribbled off a letter that had been delivered by Ker, a female Omen Owl of indeterminate ancestry who had arrived in the owlery two years previously and never left.

Madam Zabini's reply indicated she was perfectly happy with her son's choice, so Papa had sent Wispy to collect Zee's trunk so he could get his homework done and have enough changes of clothes. The twelve-year-old had been delighted and Dorea had been just as pleased to have someone to spend time with in the run-up to her birthday. Having been raised in Italy and France despite being born in England, Blaise had never attended her birthday parties before and was rather curious about the whole song-and-dance that went along with them. He also managed to charm Great-Aunt Cassiopeia into letting him join in Dorea's weekly scrying lessons and became an eager student of politics, social engineering and the mind arts. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia was now very thin indeed and slightly stooped, but her eyes were as sharp as ever despite her tongue having lost its razor edge in recent years. Dorea could feel somehow that her great-auntie was unlikely to live for much more than a year and was trying to spend as much time as possible with her, but it was difficult when she had so many other things to do and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia couldn't join in with her great-niece anymore.

The only activities that Great-Aunt Cassiopeia resolutely continued in the face of gradually declining heath were her Thursday afternoon tea and gossip sessions, which Dorea had attended religiously throughout the summer holidays despite having to be escorted back and forth by a house-elf while she was in France. Zee only attended one of those –out of slightly morbid curiosity he later admitted– and was besieged from all sides by curious girls, disapproving matrons and shameless old ladies. He acquitted himself well but refused to repeat the experience, stating he was 'insufficiently prepared for a long campaign' which had greatly amused Great-Aunt Cassiopeia.

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><p>Dorea's birthday was once again a sad crush with the who's who of the old blood of Wizarding Britain in attendance. Unfortunately however the event was marred by the arrival of a house-elf at two o'clock in the afternoon, bringing Papa the news that her Uncle Cygnus, whom she had never met, was dying and wanted to meet the family Heir before passing on. Dorea had then been rushed off to Black Court in her new French dress robes and low-heeled shoes alongside Aunt Narcissa, who was genuinely upset by the news. Papa kept a firm hold of Dorea's hand and his face had been smoothed into the cool mask of upper-class superiority that told her how much he wasn't enjoying being at this particular deathbed. Being Lord Black, Papa was expected to see Uncle Cygnus first, so Dorea had to sit in the small upstairs parlour with Aunt Narcissa, who was wringing her handkerchief in a way that suggested she was very, very unhappy. Uncle Cygnus was Aunt Narcissa's father though, so that was sort-of expected. The other person in the parlour was Aunt Druella, Uncle Cygnus' wife, who seemed very calm about her husband's imminent demise.<p>

Druella Black née Rosier was a tall, thin woman, with faded blue eyes and straight, mouse brown hair liberally streaked with silver pulled back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a stiff, Victorian robe of black velvet, satin and silk with a high neckline and long sleeves, frilled collar and cuffs, and a fitted corseted bodice above a loose, frilled skirt. All that black made her look sallow and faded as she perched on the armchair opposite the settee Dorea and Aunt Narcissa were sitting on, the faded purple upholstery adding to her appearance of sickliness. Aunt Druella's skin was slightly loose over sharp cheekbones, her cheeks were hollowed out and her eyes were deeply hooded, making her look as though her face was gradually sliding off her skull. Her hands were thin and her knuckles swollen, twisting her fingers into claws.

Aunt Druella was Aunt Narcissa's mother, but they weren't talking to each-other. Aunt Druella was calmly embroidering a fine linen handkerchief as though her husband wasn't gasping his last breaths in the next room and Aunt Narcissa was staring into space, her own handkerchief twisted between her fingers. Dorea felt awkward and out-of-place in her fashionable champagne-coloured robe with its low neckline, short puff sleeves, high waist and finely pleated skirts. Aunt Narcissa looked only slightly less obtrusive in an ice-blue robe with a V-shaped neckline that was closely fitted from shoulder to knee and then flared gently to her ankles. The silence in the parlour was oppressive, made weightier by the watchful eyes of the portraits hanging on the walls.

The door opened, revealing Papa in his red party robes.

"Narcissa, your father would like a moment before he sees Dorea," he said quietly, voice formal and stilted with the crisp, sharp accent that meant this was a formal situation he would rather have avoided. Aunt Narcissa rose to her feet at once and swept out of the room, high-heeled boots loud on the polished wood of the hallway. Papa let her pass him then took her place on the settee next to Dorea. "Aunt Druella."

"Sirius." It was the first thing Dorea had heard Aunt Druella say and it startled her, as the elderly lady's voice was deep and resonant quite unlike Aunt Narcissa's cool alto or Auntie Andy's friendly mezzo soprano. After the brief exchange of words the silence felt even more unpleasant and Dorea had to resolutely quash the urge to fidget. She instead set herself the task of mentally listing all the Chinese Seal Script characters she knew, their pronunciations depending on their context and their meanings. She'd gone through one hundred and three characters by the time the door opened again and Aunt Narcissa stepped through, head high and eyes dry if a little red.

Dorea rose to her feet alongside Papa and let him lead her out of the room, along the corridor and into the dim bedroom that smelt stale and slightly of red wine. She let herself be taken along the side of a four-poster bed draped in worn Tyrian red velvet and sat on the Fiddleback chair positioned right by the head of the bed. Once seated, she looked across and slightly up at the man lying on the bed, propped up on the cushions and half-hidden in the gloom.

The years had not been kind to her uncle; despite being barely fifty four his hair was white with sparse black streaks and hung in lank curls around his face, which was waxy-skinned and heavily wrinkled, giving him a permanent expression of severe disapproval. Beady black eyes with yellowing sclera peered at her from under thick, untidy grey brows and he had the general air of a large, solidly-built man who had lost a great deal of weight very recently. He wore a bed jacket in stained purple fine-woven wool with the lacy trimming of his nightshirt protruding untidily from the sleeves and collar.

"Uncle Cygnus, my daughter and heir, Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter," Papa said quietly and formally; "Dorea, your maternal great-uncle, Cygnus Nigellus Black." The man on the bed snorted as Dorea bowed her head semi-politely, eyes never leaving the ones trying to bore holes in her face.

The dying man snorted again, this time with more energy. "Leave us," he growled. Papa inclined his head barely enough to be considered respectful, briefly gripped Dorea's shoulder then left the room.

"So, you're Sirius' girl," Uncle Cygnus grunted. "Who was your mother then? Tell me!"

"My mother was Lillian Potter," Dorea said calmly, "distant cousin to James Potter. She was a witch, a half-blood and died during the last war. Through her I will inherit House Potter upon my majority." It was only slightly untrue, her mother's name having a bit of creative licence applied to it.

Cygnus Black made a rude sound in his throat. "Self-possessed little thing aren't you?"

Dorea raised an eyebrow coolly: this man may have been family but he was also a cruel, ignorant bigot and dying; she wasn't afraid of him. "I am to be Lady Black, Uncle," she said, tone and manners impeccably formal.

The man on the bed made a sound like a coughing wheeze that lasted for several seconds; it took Dorea a moment to realise he was laughing. "I can tell Aunt Cassie raised you: you've got her spine. Good. Maybe House Black won't go to rack and ruin after all; you're no blundering fool like my idiot nephew hanging on to Dumbledore's coattails or a weak mudblood-lover like my second child. You're smart enough not to get caught too, not like my dear Bella. Takes after my wife, does Bella: too passionate by half." He coughed again, deep and rattling.

Dorea was very grateful for the Occlumency training that enabled her to keep a straight face and remain calm in the face of the horrendous and inaccurate slurs against her father and aunt and the deeply dubious compliment he'd just paid her.

"You don't like me one little bit, do you?" Cygnus rasped. "No, don't answer; I can see it in that perfect little princess face you're wearing. You think I'm a rude old bastard ruining your birthday by dying."

"I don't think you're being rude by dying today," Dorea said, not denying any of the rest. Cygnus laughed again, his chuckles soon subsiding into more coughs.

"You'll do just fine; Leech!" That last rasped command summoned a house-elf that bore a distinct resemblance to Kreacher and wearing a tea towel with the Black crest like a toga.

"Master called?" it croaked.

"Go fetch my writing desk for me, then get my daughter and nephew in here," the old man croaked. Dorea didn't move as the elf popped out then back again with a battered writing case, which it placed on Cygnus' lap before leaving the room again. Her uncle ignored her as he slowly fumbled through the box's contents, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment and the quill he'd been looking for.

"I, Cygnus Nigellus Black, being of sound mind and acting of my own volition, do declare this my last Will and Testament and that all previous wills and codicils are revoked," he said clearly, the quill standing upright and quickly scribbling down his words; it was clearly a Dicta-Quill. "To my wife Druella I leave usage of Black Court until her death, at Lord Black's sufferance, after which it will pass back into the possession of Lord Black. To my grandson Draco Malfoy I leave ten thousand Galleons, to be accessible upon his reaching his majority. All other personal property, funds and entailments I leave to my great-niece, Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter, to be accessed upon completion of her OWLs on the condition that she supports my wife from it with the traditional widow's pension until said lady's death."

Dorea sat very still as the quill scratched across the paper and she heard her Aunt's sharp intake of breath at her father's words. Cygnus then took the quill and signed his name at the bottom before waving the parchment at his daughter and nephew.

"Get over here and sign, both of you," he croaked. "I'm leaving what's mine in the best possible hands; this way you won't squander it, fool boy. Cissa, I'm leaving some money to your son but most of it needs to stay in the Family. You understand."

"Yes father," Aunt Narcissa said huskily, taking the parchment and glancing over it before signing. Papa didn't say anything at all, taking the proffered document from his cousin and signing his name at the bottom before handing it back.

"Leech, take this to the Wills Department," Cygnus said after quickly checking the parchment over, "and tell them it's my last."

"Yes Master Cygnus," the house-elf croaked before vanishing with a crack. The elderly man then seemed to sag back into the cushions.

"All done then," he rasped, leaning back. "Finally got to meet the Heir, fixed my will, seen the only daughter who hasn't disgraced the family in one way or another." His eyes fluttered closed and he seemed to deflate without ever moving, a sighing rattle emerging from his lips as his hands slipped away from the writing case.

He had died, Dorea realised detachedly, died right before her eyes when only seconds previously he had been insulting her father. How dare he die before apologising!

Then Aunt Narcissa burst into tears and Dorea had to help Papa comfort her. Despite not having actually left her anything and being a bigoted old meanie, Cygnus had still been Aunt Narcissa's father.

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><p>Dorea did not really mourn for Uncle Cygnus, due to not having known him at all, but his having died in front of her left an indelible impression. She also had to grudgingly recognise that narrow-minded, bigoted, traditionalist grump he may have been but he did care about the Family. It took her a while to forgive him for his casual rudeness though.<p>

What with her Uncle dying on her birthday the party at Black Manor was unceremoniously cut short, all the guests packing off home to write polite letters of condolence. Papa however caught the parents of her actual friends before they left and asked that their children be allowed to visit in the upcoming weeks, since he had a funeral to arrange and didn't want Dorea to brood. Dorea had no intention of brooding, but it came upon her anyway at odd moments and having her friends around –as well as Fizz to talk to– really did help. Dee and Trey spent the night at Black Manor several times in the following fortnight, both before and after the funeral, and Zee persuaded Moppet that the best thing for Dorea would be to be dragged out of bed every morning. Dorea did _not_ appreciate this and dyed his hair straw yellow in retaliation as well as using a potion in his morning coffee to give him hiccups. Straw-yellow hair was not a good look for Zee, especially coupled with his wet-cat look at the indignity of having hiccups.

Their booklists for second year came on the eleventh of August, two days after the funeral, when coincidentally all of Dorea's friends were staying with her. After ripping open the envelopes Trey squeaked, Dee raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested that something very fishy was afoot, Zee groaned and Dorea sighed heavily.

"Papa," she said flatly, "some moron wants me to buy the entire _set_ of those Lockhart books."

Papa lowered his paper. "The ones Great-Aunt Cassie calls highly suspicious since she's pretty sure it was a witch that dealt with that banshee and the werewolf mentioned in his book was defeated before he ever left England?"

"Those ones," Dorea confirmed grimly.

Papa folded up his newspaper and set it aside. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia wasn't at breakfast, having got up over an hour earlier and eaten then, but both parent and daughter remembered her scathing reviews of Lockhart's purported adventures as they had been published. She may not have left Britain since the Grindelwald War, but that didn't mean Great-Aunt Cassiopeia didn't know what was going on: the contacts she'd made then all wrote to her with local news and all manner of rumours on a regular basis, information which Papa used to the benefit of his various estates.

"I believe it may be time to launch an official inquiry then," Lord Black said calmly, a small, sharp smile briefly twisting his lips. "It will fill the time I have to wait for the goblins to get their act together over recovering Bellatrix' dowry and other personal assets now I've finally been able to disown her, as well as give Dora something to do." Cousin Dora had recently joined a small firm of private investigators that did contract work for the Department of Testament and Estate Law as well as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so this kind of work would be right up her street. It also had the potential to be newsworthy, which was the kind of thing Great-Aunt Cassiopeia enjoyed twisting to Dumbledore's detriment.

"You don't like Lockhart, Rhea?" Trey asked, sounding puzzled and slightly hurt.

"I was at school the same time as Lockhart, Tracy," Papa said wryly, "though he was several years below me. He was a slacker and a narcissist; I've heard about several of his exploits through Minnie McGonagall since then and I seriously doubt he's anywhere near as capable in a tight spot as his books paint him."

"Oh." Dorea was slightly disturbed by how disappointed her friend sounded. Papa grinned evilly.

"He _is_ very pretty to look at though, I'll give you that," he teased roguishly, making Tracy squeak in embarrassment and hide her face behind her booklist.


	21. Chapter 21

Beta'd by the unique InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of destruction and distraction<strong>

Dorea and her friends went shopping the day after receiving their Hogwarts letters, wanting to get in ahead of the rush. Dorea spent that day attacking the libraries in search of more useful books, occasionally asking Great-Aunt Cassiopeia or Aunt Lucretia for recommendations. As she'd been doing this for well over a week now, she had a tentative list ready as well as the _very_ helpful list of OWL requirements Uncle Septimus had sent her with her birthday present. Said list suggested that Dorea could take her History and Astronomy OWLs now and pass them, which was tempting because doing so would grant her unlimited access to Uncle Cygnus' vaults, which included all of Grandad Pollux' books that he had inherited from his and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia's father. Great-Grandpa Cygnus had been a strictly traditional but somewhat kind man from what Great-Uncle Marius and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia said about him, so he probably had good books. It would also give her free time to study in that wasn't marred by the monotonous droning of an out-of-date ghost and save her from further late-night star-gazing sessions in the Scottish winter when she already knew everything on the curriculum. She hadn't found the Planetarium last year, having been rather absorbed in exploring the parseltongue passages, but she had managed to confirm that one _had_ been included when the school was built. It had in fact been one of Rowena Ravenclaw's pet projects.

Papa was against her taking any OWLs early, but Great-Aunt Cassiopeia was all for it. This discussion had been running back and forth even before the funeral and neither party was willing to concede an inch. In the meantime however Dorea had set aside a small pile of books to take to Hogwarts, as she had every intention of advancing her education as far as possible. Her cousin Anthony would be coming to Hogwarts this year too, so she had to look out for him like her older cousins looked out for her. Deborah and Dawn couldn't really do it as they both had _their_ OWLs this year, which left Patricia –now in sixth year– Stephanie, Gregory and herself. Gregory was amusingly blind to everything other than Quidditch and History, so despite Anthony being his little brother he wouldn't be much help. Patricia would be working hard preparing for her NEWTs next year, so it would mostly be Stephanie and Dorea watching out for the youngest Black. Well, youngest _British_ Black: her cousin Martin and his pretty wife Leonie had a baby daughter now, whom they'd called Phoebe. She would eventually be attending Beauxbatons though, not Hogwarts.

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><p>However a week after Dorea and her friends had spent the day in Diagon Alley, ordered new uniforms, replenished their supply of parchment, quills and potion supplies, bought their new textbooks –including just one copy of Lockhart's works between them– and trawled the other shops for interesting bits and bobs, the goblins finally came through and transferred over to the Black Vault Bellatrix's dowry and a few additional personal deposits she had made. Aunt Lucretia had been summoned by Papa to examine them and had brought to Black Manor the next day a shallow cup made of gold with two handles and a badger engraved on the side. Dorea had been curious, but upon seeing it Papa had gone white and locked himself, Aunt Lucretia and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia in the study with it. Judging by how the door was Warded they were probably arguing, so Dorea left them to it. However her preliminary packing was interrupted an hour later when Papa came looking for her, his face rather grey, and quietly asked her to come downstairs so they could talk to her.<p>

Dorea then learned that Tom Marvolo Riddle had mutilated his soul and there was a bit of it in Hufflepuff's cup, but that removing it was going to tire Great-Aunt Cassiopeia so badly she might die. So Dorea had to stand behind her Great-Aunt in one of the Ritual rooms in the basement of Black Manor and listen to what was involved in deconstructing and exorcising Soul Jars, so that the knowledge wouldn't be lost. That Voldemort hadn't just stopped at one was a sickening thought and explained a lot about how anarchic his crusade for so-called pureblood supremacy had become before he fell afoul of her mother. Aunt Lucretia also showed her how to draw a secure Exorcism Ward and promised her books once she passed her Runes OWL, which was nice but Dorea mostly felt sick that her great-auntie who was the only mother she remembered was probably going to die and it was all Voldemort's fault for chopping up his soul in the first place.

Then the process began and Dorea wrapped her arms around her Great-Aunt's middle from behind and paid close attention to the spells and wand movements, because this was important and she _had_ to learn it. Her Blood Ward activated as the first spell hit the cup, shimmering visibly across her skin as her forehead burned, but Dorea did her best to look past it at what her family was doing. The Diagnostic Charms, the Shield Charms, the unravelling of the structure of the Enchantment, all as a dark cloud _howled_ at them from within the boundaries of the Exorcism Ward. Dorea wasn't afraid of the disembodied spirit –it couldn't touch her– but she was terrified for her relatives, especially when Great-Aunt Cassiopeia started leaning on her and Aunt Lucretia sunk down on one knee.

As abruptly as it began it was all over, the dark cloud collapsing in on itself and vanishing and the glowing ward drawn on the stones beneath their feet fading to nothing. Papa quickly caught Great-Aunt Cassiopeia before she fell and tipped a Strengthening Solution down her throat before carrying her away upstairs. Dorea was left behind to help Aunt Lucretia totter over to the potions rack for a Strengthening Solution of her own, then disconsolately follow her back up to the ground floor.

* * *

><p>Great-Aunt Cassie spent the next four days in bed being waited on hand and foot by Kreacher, who was the only house-elf expressly informed on the subject of horcruxes. Sirius still didn't like seeing him but even he had to admit that Kreacher had a stake in Voldemort's downfall and he was very attentive to Cassie. However the fact remained that the wonderful and crotchety old lady had severely over-exerted herself, which not even the Healer they called in could do anything about. As Healer Duthridge said after examining her, she would either pull through or not.<p>

Dorea was incredibly upset about the whole thing and was spending all the time she could with Great-Aunt Cassie, only coming out of the room when her combat tutor came over for her lessons or to use the bathroom and sleep. Even when Cassie was asleep –which was most of the time to be honest– his darling Dorry-Rose sat in her bedroom doing her embroidery or reading a book, regularly glancing over at the woman who raised her to make sure the elderly lady was still breathing. Sirius's heart ached for his baby girl, who'd seen far too much death already this month without losing Great-Aunt Cassie. He'd already decided that his daughter could take her OWLs if she wanted and that he wouldn't stop her from learning about the nastier and more dangerous Family magic that only a few days ago he'd been fiercely vetoing; his daughter looked up to Cassie as a role model and forbidding her from following in the elder lady's footsteps would only result in her defying him. Sirius didn't want Dorea to feel she had to choose between making him happy and following her heart; he didn't want to emulate his mother like that.

To keep himself from brooding Sirius threw himself into the Lockhart project, sending wizards all over the world in search of eyewitnesses to his supposedly heroic exploits. He visited Great-Aunt Cassie every day though, to tell her what had been achieved so far and get her advice when she was awake. Auntie Lulu was recovering well at home with Uncle Iggy, which was a relief, but Great-Aunt Cassie wasn't improving. Admittedly she wasn't getting worse either, but that wasn't all that comforting really.

Sirius reminded himself that Great-Aunt Cassie was seventy seven, which while not as old as Grandpa Arcturus had been when he died was still very old for a Black. They didn't live very long as a rule, possibly due to all that in-breeding or more likely because of their family magic being Dark and therefore corrosive to those not fully in control. Great-Aunt Cassie had been one of the few to be a true Dark Arts Mistress, but she was old, frail and really shouldn't have been dismantling a horcrux with only a Runes Mistress to back her up. Sirius knew very well that he may as well have not been there, as while he was a Transfiguration Master and had recently gained his Charms Mastery in preparation for the Curse-Breaking Mastery Uncle Iggy had promised to prepare him for, he had been no use at all to the ladies. It was a bitter admission, but it was the truth. Though seeing Dorea's Ward in action –as Aunt Lulu had promised it would be– had been breath-taking and humbling: he could hardly believe that he'd helped make that possible! Yellow fire dancing over her skin without burning her, the sowilo rune an angry red on her forehead… Sirius no longer feared for his daughter's safety, but that did not mean he wanted her to get more involved in horcrux-disposal than she already was.

* * *

><p>When the first of September finally arrived Great-Aunt Cassiopeia was slightly better, but still spending most of every day either in bed or sitting in an armchair wrapped in a blanket, as she refused to miss any more Thursday teas than she had to. It was still an improvement though, so Dorea didn't feel too badly about going away to school for several months. She had lots of books packed, Papa had agreed to let her take two OWLs early –she'd be sitting them at the beginning of the Christmas holidays– and apparently the investigation into Lockhart was going well enough that Dora was sure they'd have enough evidence for it to be worth bringing the case before Amelia Bones by the New Year. Dorea hoped it would be sooner than that, as it had been in the Prophet last week that Lockhart would be Hogwarts' Defence teacher this year and she was dreading it. In fact, she was tempted to skive off entirely and go the self-study route; after all if he never saw her in class he wouldn't ever realise she was missing, would he?<p>

It was with this hopeful thought in mind that Dorea boarded the Hogwarts Express, finding the compartment Daphne was sitting in with relative ease and settling in opposite her, Fizz wrapped around her shoulders. The boomslang hissed languidly about rats, sunshine and how he would miss climbing trees as Dorea opened _The Darkness Within_ and concentrated on the printed words before her; Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had answered a lot of her questions and explained various points to her over the holidays, so she'd made considerable progress through the thin volume. Her Occlumency had progressed also, but Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had warned her that she would not be able to progress to true mastery until after puberty, which meant she would not be able to start delving into black magic until she was fifteen at the very least and possibly not even until she was seventeen. Dorea had accepted this as being for her own sanity and was turning her academic efforts towards the Potter Grimoires in the meantime: they contained a lot on Wards and Transfiguration, so most of this year's extra reading was geared towards those subjects.

She had brought _Transfiguration Expanded_ again, both the first and second volumes this time, but also _Fluidity of Form_, a Greek text from the Library of Alexandria side-by-side with its English translation. The book dated from before the Statute of Secrecy so the translation was rather archaic, but Dorea had picked up quite a bit of Ancient Greek over the years alongside her Latin lessons and she was managing just fine so far. She also had a dictionary of Ancient Greek so she wouldn't get stuck as well as a grammar text; it wouldn't do to misunderstand something.

Her latest Rune book had been a gift from Aunt Lucretia, who agreed she was ready for practical projects. It was called _Three Hundred Seals_ and was in Chinese, but Dorea was perfectly fluent now so she wouldn't have a problem. The book was the standard starter text for using Seal Script in talismans, wards and rituals, so Dorea wasn't really worried about getting in over her head. Uncle Ignatius had given her a Russian book of weather and secrecy magic called _General Winter_ –or at least that was what it translated as– which contained numerous Charms that all had Ward equivalents. Dorea had leafed through it once already while sitting with Great-Aunt Cassiopeia and was hoping that the book would give her an idea of how to convert other Charms into Wards. Her attempts at keeping the dorm above freezing had so far all been Warming Wards rather than proper Heating Wards, and they had all failed rather quickly.

She'd also brought _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade Three) _because their little independent study group was well ahead, _Self-Defensive Spellwork_ because they'd need it what with Lockhart attempting to teach –he'd barely managed an 'Acceptable' on his Defence OWL– and _The Chatelaine's Complete Potions Compendium_, which was another antique text but gratifyingly wide-ranging in recipes and had its own associated notebook containing the editing, explanations and modifications of various past generations of Blacks. The notebook was nearly as thick as the original text after so many years of use and Dorea was hoping that brewing everything in the book would enable her to slim it down so that a revised edition of the original volume could be printed, privately of course, for ease of usage.

She was also taking _Refinements in Scrying_, which was a good follow-up text to _An Introduction to Scrying _that Blaise had borrowed and started learning from over the summer, so she could delve more into different scrying mediums and which ones worked best for her in which circumstances. Cards could be quite good for scrying with, for instance, especially in complex, social or abstract situations. Dorea was also taking a lot of sheet music, particularly Chopin. Playing helped her deal with stress and think things through, so she'd done quite a bit more practicing than had been strictly necessary last year. Dealing with Lockhart and his fans would probably send her running to the piano even more this year –the man was a lying fool but he was pretty to look at– so it would be wise to be prepared. Besides, Fizz liked feeling her play; he claimed it was almost as good as magic.

Doera was roused from her musing by Padma and Hermione entering the compartment. She hadn't seen Padma at all over the summer as her family had been in India, so she set her book aside and got up to hug her.

"Padma! You look very well. Have a good holiday?"

"I had a lovely time, thank-you," Padma said pleasantly; "My father was very pleased with my marks and bought me some very pretty jewellery; my sister was rather jealous and may join our study group this year. Oh, and I bought you this, but I thought I should give it to you in person rather than post it." She handed Dorea a parcel wrapped in elaborately decorated paper. "I found it in Delhi; it should have more information on parselmouths than I was able to give you."

Hermione made a strangled sound but did not interrupt as Dorea carefully opened the parcel. It contained a book titled _Children of the Naga_, which took her a great deal of self-control to not just sit down and read. Instead she set it down on top of _The Darkness Within_, thanked Padma profusely then turned to greet Hermione, who was fidgeting.

"Hello, Hermione."

Hermione's face set in resolve. "I talked to my parents," she announced, "and they said you had a point. So I'm going to try and write more concisely because not everyone is as interested in all the fine detail as I am." It was clearly not something she was happy about, so Dorea smiled delightedly and hugged the startled Muggleborn.

"I'm so glad. I was worried about you, you see: I wouldn't want you to lose marks over something that trivial."

Hermione hugged her back then pulled away. "They said that too; I know you do care Dorea, it's just… why can't people be _interested_?" She seemed genuinely outraged.

Dorea patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Think of it this way: if you can summarise it well enough that people can understand it and want to know more, they can ask you and you can add all the details in."

Hermione looked much happier at that prospect, no matter how unlikely Dorea knew it to be, and she and Padma sat down, leaving room for Blaise, who had not yet arrived. Given that Dorea had not yet gone into much detail on Family Magic with Hermione –it was not really something you were supposed to share– she slid _The Darkness Within_ out of sight and picked up _Children of the Naga_, eager to read a book on parselmagic that did not utterly vilify it without actually going into detail of what it entailed.

Blaise eventually hurried into the compartment barely five minutes before the train was due to leave, muttering mutinously in Italian about 'priorities' and 'idiot step-fathers'. Dorea patted him sympathetically on the leg as he set his trunk in the overhead rack and shifted sideways slightly so he could flop down next to her. Zee was her best friend; it was something she'd realised over the summer holidays. Dee she trusted to get things done for her, tell her what she needed to know and back her up and Trey was the best person to cheer her up, but when she just wanted to _be_ and not feel lonely, Blaise was who she looked for. He was calming and didn't judge her. It was almost like having a brother: Zee wasn't above teasing her over her foibles.

"_Excuse me for being so late, Rhea; my new step-father doesn't seem to realise that I need to be on time for the train,_" Blaise said in Italian as the whistle blew and the train started moving. "_I don't think I want to go home for Christmas this year, whether or not he's still there._" Her friend did love his mother dearly, but he found her tendency to run through husbands like most women did shoes to be highly disconcerting. Zee wasn't the only one to feel that way, but he actually had to live with his mother and the man she was currently married to.

"_You can stay at my house; my father won't mind and you'll enjoy it more than staying at school,_" Dorea replied in the same language. Zee usually spoke Italian to her whenever he could, as it was his mother tongue and while his English was fluent he liked Italian better.

Her friend's head slid across to rest on her shoulder. "_Thanks Rhea; I'd like that a lot. I read that book you gave me on Water Magic during the summer: it's really interesting and I'm pretty good at it. Want to see?_"

"_Certainly, but not now._" Dorea said absently. "_You seem tired._"

"_I am; I've barely had any sleep since the wedding last week,_" Zee grouched. "_Why couldn't Mum just go on her honeymoon right away and let me stay with you? It would have been less stressful. Jonas doesn't like me at all as it is without Mum giving him more reasons._"

"_Rest; I'll save you something to eat for later,_" Dorea said firmly. "_Don't make me hex you._"

Blaise chuckled, eyes closed. "_I adore you Rhea. Until later?_"

"_Goodnight._"

It took all of twenty minutes for her Italian friend's breathing to even out and his head to start to slip forward off her shoulder; Dorea set her book aside to lower his head and shoulders onto her lap and shift his legs around so he wouldn't be uncomfortable lying that way. Then she returned to her reading. The book Padma had given her was delightfully positive and marvellously detailed. She would be able to experiment!

"Dorea?" Dorea glanced up at Hermione.

"Yes?" she replied quietly, not wanting to disturb Blaise. Admittedly Blaise was a heavy sleeper where noise was concerned, but if she tensed he would be up in a split-second.

"Erm, I heard you mention parselmagic last year," the Muggleborn said tentatively, "so I tried to look it up. All the books I could find say parselmouths are evil."

"British and indeed most other European cultures vilify parselmouths," Dorea said calmly, "because several highly infamous wizards of a violently destructive and dangerous bent have had the gift. Herpo the Foul was the most infamous in antiquity, but the self-styled Lord Voldemort was the most recent. However being a parselmouth doesn't make you evil: it just means that you can speak to snakes. It's what people do with their gifts that defines them, not what those gifts are. Paracelsus was a parselmouth."

"In India parselmouths are revered," Padma volunteered. "There are many poisonous snakes and being able to communicate with them has saved many lives."

Hermione was wide-eyed, but didn't seem to be outraged at the idea of her precious books being biased; possibly there had been more than one talk with her parents this summer. "Could you tell me more?"

Dorea let her attention go back to her reading as Padma and Hermione's conversation continued, Tracy and Daphne both joining in after a little while. She'd heard most of what the raven was saying before and her new book was much more interesting.


	22. Chapter 22

Beta'd by the valuable InsaneScriptist.

* * *

><p><strong>Of being alone in the crowd <strong>

Dorea had been startled when, upon leaving Hogsmeade Station with the rest of the older students, she saw they were expected to travel to the castle in Thestral-drawn carriages. Not that she agreed with the Ministry that Thestrals were dangerous –compared to griffins they were perfectly easy to get along with– but they were very rare and domesticating them would probably be challenging. That Hogwarts had a herd tame enough to pull carriages was very surprising and probably something to do with Hagrid, who apparently loved large and dangerous beasts. The Cerberus from last year had been his.

The Thestrals were however an unwelcome reminder of Uncle Cygnus, as he was the reason she could see them at all. True, she'd been present at her mother's murder but she didn't really remember it and probably hadn't understood it at the time. She still didn't quite accept that Lily Potter was dead, as the Blood Ward was like a part of her mother that protected her still and said Ward was almost alive. Uncle Cygnus on the other hand was undeniably dead and she'd seen it happen. Hence, Thestrals. She patted the one hitched up to the carriage Blaise was climbing into before following him inside, smiling at the Italian boy's disgruntled mumbles about how hungry he was. Zee was nearly as tall as she was now, having shot up in the last few months of the previous school year and was still gaining height. He'd probably overtake her soon, considering he was almost a year older than she was and boys were usually taller than girls. With this abrupt growing spurt came a monster appetite, which Dorea knew all about due to Blaise staying with her over the holidays.

It was rather isolating to hear her friends talking about 'horseless carriages' though; Dorea had always felt slightly removed from her friends for one reason or another and this added more depth to the divide. She wouldn't wish enlightenment on anyone, but it still hurt.

Watching the sorting and listening to Zee's stomach growling was moderately amusing, but the only person she knew who was coming to Hogwarts this year was her cousin Anthony Black, who had been almost the first person called and promptly sorted into Hufflepuff. Dorea knew why: Anthony was not ambitious and despite being very smart wasn't bookish, but he was rather terrifyingly loyal to his extended family and would do anything for them. _Really_ anything; he wasn't incautious about it like a Gryffindor would be either. Her baby cousin was liable to grow up scary, which Dorea thoroughly approved of. His presence in Hufflepuff also gave her a way in to the badger's circles, which was fortuitous and to be exploited. Anthony adored her –she'd played with him a lot as a child– and was very outgoing, so he'd likely hunt _her_ down to talk about his new friends.

She didn't recognise any of the other new firsties, though a few familiar surnames surfaced: a Weasley in Gryffindor, a Gibbon and a Travers in Slytherin and a Lovegood in Ravenclaw. Dorea had never met any of the Lovegoods, but the late Pandora Lovegood had been a spell researcher and Dorea had been interested in her work on principle. Mr Lovegood's alternative newspaper 'The Quibbler' was also a hilarious read, provided you read between the lines and could decipher the code. Aunt Lucretia had introduced her to it as a way to practice her Norse Runes, as there was always a Rune code or small article written in them included in the publication.

Then came the feast, after which they were thankfully not required to sing the school song, followed by a slightly later curfew and bedtime. Dorea slept well, Fizz curled up next to her under the covers.

* * *

><p>Dorea heard about Lockhart's lessons before getting to actually attend one: the first Defence lesson of the year was had by the second-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. It was, according to a scuffed Neville and an irate Roger, a fiasco.<p>

"He released a cageful of Cornish pixies on us after making us do a _ridiculous_ quiz that was all about _him_ rather than anything useful!" Roger raged to the rest of the study group that evening. "Neville ended up hanging from the chandelier!" Roger's thick streak of rashness manifested when his friends were threatened, which made him half-badger really. Dorea thoroughly approved: Roger was good for Neville.

"I used the Cushioning Charm on the floor so I could get down," Neville added quietly, patting his friend tentatively on the shoulder, "then we used the Freezing Charm on the pixies. Lockhart ran for it when the bell rang and the pixies tossed his wand out of the window well before that."

"So," Dorea said grimly, "he is utterly incompetent and isn't even going to _try_ and teach us."

"It's not like that!" Fay protested. "I'm sure he just had a bad day!"

Dorea exchanged glances with Dee and Zee; neither looked convinced. Neville and Roger both looked incredulous, Trey looked conflicted and Sally-Anne, Padma and even Hermione all seemed to be taking Fay's side on the matter. How ridiculous and irritating. Clearly Lockhart's appearance and fame had robbed them of sense, so she would have to be patient and sensible for them while keeping the peace.

"Look, let's agree _not_ to talk about Lockhart here, okay?" she said with a sigh. "We'll practice the spells in the second year Defence curriculum –I got my Uncle Remus to write them all down for me– so that if they come up in class you'll already know how to do them. That way we'll be ahead there as well as in Charms and Transfiguration."

Hermione was not the only girl looking elated at the chance of showing off in front of the shiny-smiled Defence teacher and Dorea suppressed a groan. What was _wrong_ with her friends? At least Dee's brains weren't turning to mush as well…

* * *

><p>At the beginning of the second week of classes Dorea discovered something that made her moan in abject horror and throw herself face-down across one of the couches in the Slytherin Common Room. Terence Higgs, who had given her the news, blinked in consternation and carefully laid a hand on her shoulder as she whimpered.<p>

"Rhea, are you alright?" Most of her school friends called her 'Rhea' now and Terence was definitely a friend.

"No," Dorea groaned into the leather upholstery. "Did Draco's father _really_ do that?"

"What, donate brand new brooms to the entire team on the condition that Draco made seeker?" Terence repeated bemusedly. "Yes, he did."

"He's going to be bleedin' _unbearable_ all year!" Dorea complained, shifting over onto her back so she could look at Rence properly. "Are you angry? I mean, seeker's _your_ spot on the team. Draco's a capable flier but really nothing special, so if this means Flint's not even going to hold a tryout to make sure Draco is actually better than you are-" The older boy reached down and pressed a finger to her lips.

"Rhea, it is fine, really. I'm in fourth year now and this way I can focus on my studies; I am taking three electives you know. I only ever joined the team as a favour to Adrian: he's the Quidditch nut. We've won the cup over seven years running and if we fail this year then I seriously doubt Draco will _ever_ manage to get back on the team, brooms or not." He grinned. "And there's no _way_ I'm playing next year when I have to take my OWLs."

Dorea processed this and giggled. "Rence, that's evil. I'm so proud to know you."

"Plus, this way I can drag you out to the game and make sure you actually _watch_ rather than staying in the castle and vanishing who-knows-where," Terence added, glancing at her piercingly. "Where is it you go when you do that? It's not the main library, you're not in here and if you were wandering the corridors someone would have spotted you by now."

Dorea looked away and didn't answer; she wasn't going to lie to him but she was putting off telling anybody she was a parselmouth for as long as she possibly could.

"Fine, keep your secrets Rhea," Terence sighed, "but consider this: if we don't know what's going on we can't supply a ready alibi if it gets you into trouble."

"It's partly a family thing, Rence," Dorea said quietly, not wanting him to be upset with her. She liked Terence: he didn't treat her like a child, helped her with her spell work and always had a smile on his face in the common room. He wasn't trying to be pretentious or superior and had on several occasions fended off older students who considered her surname to be a good reason to target her, not all of them Slytherins. The Black family had a terrible reputation and her being in Slytherin convinced most of those not among the snakes that she was just as evil as her aunt Bella, while the rest seemed to think she was as pro-Muggle as Dumbledore like her father had once been. That she was cultivating members of all the houses regardless of blood or status just further convinced the latter sort that they were right, never mind that she was doing it for more self-serving reasons.

"Well then, say no more," Terence said, face slipping back into his habitual small smile. "Just remember we're your friends, okay? You can tell us stuff."

"Thanks," Dorea said honestly, smiling back at him as she sat up and pushed a few loose curls back behind her ear. "I should go warn Blaise that our Quidditch-dodging days are numbered."

Terence laughed, hauling her to her feet and shaking his head. "You do that Rhea; see you later!"

Rhea darted out of the common room, still smiling as she hurried upstairs to the Great Hall and breakfast. While she didn't much like Quidditch, it probably wouldn't be so bad with Rence there to explain things and Zee providing a scathing commentary. Her Papa had tried to get her interested in Quidditch as a child and taken her to several professional matches, but Dorea just wasn't moved by the sport. She apparently took after her mother that way.

However as she made her way across the packed Entrance Hall Dorea's feet faltered and her stomach clenched in dread. Stiffening her spine, she took care not to walk faster as she walked through the doors of the Great Hall and made her way to the Slytherin table where Dee and Zee were waiting for her. Dorea tried to smile, but from the looks on their faces she had failed abjectly.

But why, _why_ had her forehead burned so urgently for a moment back in the Entrance Hall?

* * *

><p>By the second week of October Dorea had come to several mostly unrelated conclusions:<p>

Firstly, she loathed Lockhart and his narcissistic incompetence with every fibre of her being. His classes were a source of never-ending frustration as he never taught spells, never actually explained the useful, factual parts of his books so they could learn about the Creatures and Beings mention therein and seemed to think that they should all be delighted at the opportunity to spend an hour in his presence regardless. Sickeningly, most of the girls seemed to be smitten with him and Dorea really couldn't understand _why_. His hair was far too perfect and still to be natural, his wide and shiny smile was blandly insincere and his dress sense was far too showy. He reminded her of a peacock: all flash and no substance. Why couldn't her female friends see it? Daphne could, though her Dee was being far quieter than usual this year. Dorea had tried to find out why, but the older girl denied anything was the matter at all, saying she just had a lot on her mind. What with Dee vanishing inside her own head for hours on end and Trey blushing every time she saw Lockhart, the only person she could have a conversation with was Zee!

Secondly, the Hufflepuffs were either a cult or a Family that the members were adopted into upon proving their worth. There was no other explanation for the way _all_ the badgers knew her cousin Anthony and his fellow firsties by name within the month, or the way that there was always an older student in a yellow-and-black tie lurking within hearing when her cousin grabbed her in the corridors for a chat and to introduce her to whichever of his house-mates he was with today. So far there had been his year-mates Gabriel Tate, Melvin Catterick, Satinder Singh, Darrel Turner, Haruka Endoh, Benjamin McEwen, Trudy Galston, Thora Dinnet and Madeline Ormskirk, Dorea's fellow second-years Justin Finch-Fletchley, Megan Jones, Ernie Macmillan, Oliver Rivers, Lily Moon, Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones and Wayne Hopkins, third-years Tamsin Applebee, Herbert Fleet and Malcom Preece, fourth-year Cedric Diggory, fifth-years Anthony Rickett and Maxine O'Flaherty and sixth-year Gabriel Truman. Matching names to faces was a serious challenge but Dorea hadn't slipped up yet and the badgers seemed ever more voluble and inclined to make conversation with each encounter. Conversations were still superficial, but Dorea had a feeling she was getting somewhere with each remembered name, all the random titbits she was pulling out of past Thursday teas with her Great-Aunt and her own refusal to believe that Hufflepuffs were in any way inferior to the other three houses. Certainly Susan and Hannah were now making time to chat to her after Astronomy on Monday nights. Hopefully those conversations would continue after she took her Astronomy OWL, as even those budding friendships were not reason enough to put off the date beyond which she would no longer have to stay up late and freeze while watching the stars.

Thirdly, that several generations of parselmouths had built on what Salazar Slytherin had started in creating a network of private passages through the school, as there was no other explanation for the number of paintings with snakes in them and the passages they hid. Dorea had a feeling that a lot of the passages had once been accessible by everyone before the parselmouths 'closed' them with specially created paintings. The semi-animate statues guarding the network of dungeon passages were certainly Slytherin's work, but the paintings were long after his time. The passage hidden behind the Slytherin points' hourglass was Dorea's favourite, as it led up into the Founder's Tower –which was otherwise inaccessible– and across as far as the Hospital wing. She'd also located the Planetarium which had been parsel-locked at some point, possibly by a disgruntled past Astronomy teacher who'd been sacked.

There had likely been a number of discreet parselmouths teaching and learning at Hogwarts over the years, gradually modifying the school to suit them. She wasn't certain how difficult those spells would be, just that she would need to experiment a little first. Dorea now had a much better idea of how the school was put together due to being able to access areas that other people couldn't. Papa knew that it was possible to map Hogwarts as he claimed to have done it, so she really needed to weasel the required Charms out of him or Remus so she could do it herself. She could ask by letter, but Papa was the practical sort and wouldn't be able to explain the spell in writing very well. Calling him up on the mirror would work, but it wasn't really an emergency.

Fourthly and most upsettingly, one of her fellow students was possessed by Voldemort. Dorea had no proof of this beyond the erratic burning around the Rune on her forehead, but to her that was evidence enough. She wasn't about to cry werewolf just yet though, as it would do more harm than good. Instead she was trying to work out exactly which student was so unfortunately afflicted. It certainly wasn't any of the Slytherins, as she'd never felt so much as a twinge in the common room even when she got up stupidly early one Sunday and spent the entire day reading on the couch nearest the entrance. Similarly it wasn't any of the ravens or badgers in her year, as she shared classes with them and she'd had no trouble then. The times she encountered the most twinges were when Anthony caught her between classes, but it wasn't any of his fellow 'puff firsties because she'd clasped hands with all of them without a problem. However Anthony Leo Black was frequently in the company of the Gryffindor first-years as he shared most of his classes with them, so to Dorea it seemed plausible that the victim was one of the younger lions. Verifying that however was going to be a beast of a task since she had no reason to approach any of them. Dorea was currently working on finding excuses to be invited into the Gryffindor Common Room so she could experiment a bit, but most of her plans would have to involve the twins and their sister was among the suspects. Neville and Roger might help if she had a good enough reason, but she hadn't thought of one yet. She would have to narrow down her suspect pool then inform her family, so that something could be done. Great-Aunt Cedrella was very frail now but she was the Weasleys' grandmother, so Dorea would at least be able to cross little Ginevra off the list. It was most irritating.

Well, actually to tell the truth being stalled in her investigations of who was possessed was nerve-wracking and upsetting, but Dorea was trying not to go there. This added to the Lockhart issue was causing her to spend a lot of time soothing her nerves in the music rooms and asking for extra practice time in the duelling hall. Ric –Avery had finally decided that she'd earned the right to call him by his given name– had raised an eyebrow at her but agreed, since he was now a sixth-year and had less classes to attend anyway. As a result she now had a mid-week combat lesson as well as a Saturday one, which was exhausting but helped her sleep and not worry about things she couldn't change. Blaise had managed to join the 'sword school' as he called it during the summer holidays and was learning to wield a flame-bladed rapier or flamberge from Cassandra Wilkes, a quiet and intense fifth-year who had recently been permitted to start teaching. Wilkes had only been recognised as proficient back in May and had until then been under the tutorial of the recently-graduated Howard Yaxley, but Blaise seemed to be enjoying himself and was clearly talented despite grumbling about the level of physical fitness required. Zee didn't slack off at all, not in anything, but he did grumble about things he didn't enjoy. Generally in a humorous and sarcastic manner, which always lightened the atmosphere.

As Halloween drew ever closer Dorea was quietly hoping that this year the date would pass without any of the excitement that had marked last year's feast, but she wasn't holding her breath. October 31st had never been a good day for her, marking as it did her mother's death, and she was starting to suspect that the disembodied Tom Marvolo Riddle had a 'thing' about Halloween. Why else would he attack the Potters on that day, then ten years later let a troll into the school? Since he'd somehow gained entry to Hogwarts _again_ despite Dumbledore's assurances that the Castle Wards made it the safest place in Britain, Dorea was more wary than hopeful. Considering the way her luck was going and the wand that had matched her at Ollivander's, it seemed she had been selected by Magic for heroism despite her innate distaste for such things.

However Dorea had no intention of being pushed into rashness: fools rushed in but they tended not to rush out again afterwards. She would be cautious, thorough and determine the situation as precisely as she could before alerting her family and selecting an appropriate course of action. It was, after all, the Slytherin thing to do in such a situation.


	23. Chapter 23

Beta'd by the wonderful InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of new friends and recurring issues <strong>

It was still two weeks before Halloween when Dorea had her first direct encounter with Luna Lovegood. She'd actually heard quite a lot about the younger girl from both Padma and Hermione: Hermione found her rather frustrating due to the various unknown magical creatures the first-year constantly referred to, while Padma clearly found Luna delightfully charming and refreshing. Neither had exchanged more than a few words with the eleven-year-old, but both had mentioned her eccentricity at length in their group study sessions.

Dorea had been on her way back to the Slytherin Common Room after two and a half hours spent communing with the grand piano in the third-left music room when she came across Luna Lovegood standing to one side of the right-hand fifth-floor corridor as two slightly taller girls in Ravenclaw colours tipped her bag across the floor, spilling quills, ink bottles, parchment and text books every-which-way. This was bullying and Dorea had a very low tolerance for such behaviour. Palming her elm wand, she quietly murmured the incantation for the Pumpkin-Head Jinx.

The effects were everything she'd hoped for: the head of the taller girl with the ugly sneer was instantly encased in a very solid-looking pumpkin, which distracted her plumper associate for the split-second it took Dorea to cast the spell again, thus ensuring neither girl caught sight of her. As the two bullies panicked and started screaming as they staggered into the walls, the second-year Slytherin calmly waved her wand over the scattered supplies, easily casting the wordless Re-Ordering Charm that sent them all back into Luna Lovegood's bag. She then picked up the bag, took the young raven by the hand and led her swiftly off away from her former attackers and down a passageway behind a suit of armour. Once the bullying twits had calmed down enough to think, they'd realise that the pumpkin could be dispelled pretty easily.

"You didn't need to do that, you know," the rather dishevelled-looking younger girl commented. "They'd have got tired of it eventually."

"I did it because I wanted to," Dorea said calmly, pausing halfway along the passage to get a good look at the unusually easygoing raven. Most Ravenclaws were highly competitive in academic matters and those few who were athletically inclined took their competitive spirit there as well. Luna Lovegood had silver-grey eyes that were slightly protuberant, making her appear disconcertingly innocent and mildly surprised. Her hair was long, untidy and dark blonde, her skin was remarkably fair and she was wearing a necklace with what looked like dirigible plums on it. She was in fact very pretty in a slightly ethereal way despite clearly not brushing her hair as much as she should.

"Really? That's very kind of you," Luna said earnestly, smiling slightly. "I'm not sure the pumpkins will work to protect Sophie and Felicity from Wrackspurts for much longer though, as they will probably try to get them removed."

Dorea giggled. She couldn't help it: Luna was utterly adorable in a way that was either charmingly naïve or utterly mischievous. "My name is Dorea Black and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance," she said, voice still slightly wobbly.

Luna beamed at her. "It's lovely to meet you Dorea; I'm Luna Lovegood, though some of the girls in my dorm call me Loony."

Dorea's smile vanished. "That's very mean of them: you are not loony at all. You're a really kind person and I'd really like you to be my friend." She was rather startled by her own forthrightness, but some instinct told her this was the best possible course of action.

Luna's smile became somehow even more radiant. "I'd love to be your friend, Dorea. I've never had friends before."

"Well that is going to change," Dorea said firmly, catching Luna's hand again and leading her off down the secret staircase towards the second floor classroom she was due to meet her friends in for Transfiguration practice, "because you are my friend now and I intend to introduce you to my other friends. Friends look after each-other after all and I really don't like how your dorm-mates are treating you."

Luna did not protest at all, but her eyes grew slightly brighter in a way that suggested she was holding back tears. Judging them to be happy tears, Dorea did not comment on them.

* * *

><p>Befriending Luna proved hilarious: she considered Lockhart to be suffering from a Wrackspurt infestation and her explanation for this peculiar statement won over all Dorea's male friends within minutes. The girls were less impressed and even Daphne seemed more perturbed than pleased to have an ally against the forces of insanity, but upon hearing what had been going on when Dorea found her, they all agreed to look out for Luna. Padma in particular took the younger girl under her wing, which Hermione found by turns upsetting and embarrassing as Padma insisted Luna talk about whatever she wanted with them and what Luna wanted to talk about was vast, varied and sometimes a bit shocking. Blaise just seemed to be enjoying the show and was perfectly happy to listen to Luna natter on about the various peculiar creatures she believed in, though Dorea suspected he was doing it to see Hermione redden and twitch.<p>

Luna proved to be quite brilliant and a quick study, easily learning the first-year spells Dorea had Neville teach her and making the shy twelve-year-old boy blush with her matter-of-fact compliments on his teaching skills. Dorea had suggested Neville as Luna's tutor because he was still having trouble with some of the spells and she'd hoped teaching would help him improve. It seemed to be paying off, as Luna was helping Neville as much as he was helping her and the younger girl's unusual conversation style was doing wonders for Neville's self-esteem. Luna was shamelessly blunt and honest, which made her almost impossible to ignore when she complimented you.

Oddly enough though, Dee became even more withdrawn after Luna joined the group. Dorea was starting to become seriously concerned for her friend. Was there something wrong? Were her family all well? Asking after her younger sister Astoria proved that no, her baby sister was just fine and looking forward to starting at Hogwarts the following year and that her parents were also well. Daphne quietly insisted that she simply had a lot on her mind of late and refused to go into further detail. Dorea however could see that something rather fundamental was bothering her first friend and decided that the situation was dire enough to warrant calling in reinforcements: her cousin Dawn.

Dawn Hydra Woodmore was nearly sixteen, highly social and quite devastatingly perceptive in emotional matters that were still rather beyond Dorea's comprehension. It had been Dawn who had explained about crushes and romance to the puzzled twelve-year-old who hadn't understood why Trey was blushing over Lockhart, who had added various useful details to 'The Talk' Dorea had been given by Great-Aunt Cassiopeia about a week before the start of school and who had dissected for the younger girl why people in general were so illogical in emotional matters. Dawn might have been a year younger that Cousin Trish, but she was far more perceptive and capable in dealing with people. Patricia Andromeda Black was a highly intelligent young woman with a genuine passion for Magical Creatures and Arithmancy, but while good at reading people's hidden feelings she couldn't unravel or explain them like Dawn could.

Dorea knew that Dawn would be able to set Dee straight no matter what was wrong, so she hunted down the fifth-year on the Saturday afternoon to earnestly beg a favour. Dawn obligingly listened, asked a few questions then smiled at her younger cousin and promised to do what she could, warning Dorea that whatever she and Daphne discussed would be confidential unless Dee wished it otherwise. Dorea didn't care that she might never know what the problem was: she just wanted her friend to be herself again!

* * *

><p>Daphne had been aware that Rhea had noticed she was spending more time inside her own head of late, but she hadn't realised she had worried her friend to the point that said friend had decided to stage an intervention. Because Dawn Woodmore was respected and feared in the house of snakes for her ability to pull the truth out of thin air in a way that was far too much like mind-reading for anyone's comfort. It probably wasn't Legilimency, but it could easily be some kind of Seer talent which in some ways was worse: Legilimency could be defended from, but a person could no more thwart a Seer than they could stop the tide. The petite blonde Greengrass warily eyed the tall, willowy grey-eyed redhead who had cornered her in the common room and cast several Privacy Charms around their sofa before sitting down beside her.<p>

"Rhea's worried about you," Woodmore said gently, reaching out to place a hand on Daphne's shoulder. "You were her first friend and she'd do just about anything for you, but you not telling her what's wrong is bothering her when she can tell the issue isn't going away. So I thought it might help to be able to air the problem privately. I promise not to repeat anything unless you expressly ask me to and nobody can hear us or focus on us right now."

Daphne's eyes dropped to her hands, which were clenched in her lap.

"Is it to do with your family?" Woodmore asked gently.

As a matter of fact, it was. Daphne's mother had recently become pregnant again, which had been a complete surprise to both her parents as they'd tried for a child for five years after Astoria was born before giving up. But her mother was expecting her third child now and the Healer had determined that the child was male. So Daphne, who had been groomed from childhood as Heir Greengrass, was already being pushed aside in favour of her unborn baby brother. If not for her friendship with Rhea her parents would already be considering advantageous alliances, but the Black connection meant that a great many families that would not usually be interested in allying themselves to the Greengrasses had to be considered, and Daphne remaining unattached gave her parents greater scope. As it was her mother had taken her aside before school started and asked her to consider which of the boys at Hogwarts she might be willing to marry at a later date, so that those connections could be cultivated in greater depth.

The problem was that currently Daphne wasn't interested in any of the boys in school, unlike Rhea who had a slight crush on Terence Higgs that she rather amusingly didn't even seem to be aware of yet. Instead Daphne considered the only person worth her time, attention and admiration to be Dorea herself. Which was problematic, because Daphne was well aware that Dorea really _had_ to marry a strapping pureblood male and produce a minimum of two sons to ensure the continuation of both her bloodlines and the other girl was not one to take her duties to family and eventual wedding vows lightly. Whatever Dorea did, she did it knowingly, willingly and wholeheartedly or not at all. It was why Daphne loved her so passionately. But Dorea would never return that passion, so Daphne would have to settle for honouring her Pledge, supporting her darling Rhea with all her heart, mind and strength and marrying someone who understood that, to Daphne, Dorea _always_ came first.

"So it's like that, hm?"

Daphne's head snapped upwards to meet Woodmore's sympathetic gaze. She _knew_. How did she do that?! It had to be Seer talent; Legilimency didn't work like that!

"She's something else, isn't she?" Woodmore said wryly, glancing across the room to where Rhea was helping first-year Richard Harper with his Charms homework. "I won't say a word; I promised not to, remember? But I do suggest you tell her enough to distract her from the real problem or else you're going to give yourself away." The older girl got to her feet and patted Daphne on the shoulder. "She'll probably never fall in love with you, but don't ever doubt that she loves you and would move mountains for you if she decided it was needed."

Daphne remained on the sofa, her thoughts whirling madly.

* * *

><p>Talking to Dawn seemed to have helped Dee, as she confided in Dorea later that week that her parents were expecting a third child: a boy. By the time the summer holidays came around again Dee would no longer be Heir Greengrass and she was having trouble adjusting. Dorea could see how that would be upsetting and confusing to come to terms with: suddenly losing a large chunk of your purpose in life would make anyone quiet and withdrawn for weeks on end. So she hugged her friend, promised to be there if she ever wanted to talk then suggested Daphne think about what she wanted to do with her life now that she wouldn't be taking over the family title. Become a Healer maybe? Breed crups? Become an architect? Teach?<p>

Dee had laughed off all her suggestions but Rhea didn't really mind. Her friend was talking to her properly again!

Unfortunately this improvement was followed by a disastrous act of verbal idiocy by Draco, who seemed to be bent on sabotaging Dorea's plan to expand the influence of Slytherin House to encompass the entire school. His joining the Slytherin Quidditch team had bolstered his ego in all the wrong ways and he seemed more certain than ever that his father was the ultimate authority in everything and to be emulated in every possible way. Sadly however Draco lacked Lucius Malfoy's keen sense of timing and cool appreciation of politics: instead he took after the Black side of the family in having a quick temper and being rather easily distracted like his Aunt Bellatrix and his Uncle Sirius, Dorea's own father. His efforts to emulate Uncle Lucius were therefore utterly doomed, as the blond twit had no sense of when to keep his mouth shut.

Hence his calling Hermione 'mudblood' as they waited outside the Greenhouses for Professor Sprout to arrive.

* * *

><p>Blaise Gerard Zabini Kwar Nyireth had quite honestly not expected to enjoy himself at Hogwarts. He hadn't even expected to be invited; his father's people still followed the path of traditional Shamanism, where education was passed on from master to apprentice, while his mother had attended Beauxbatons. However his paternal grandmother had been a British Muggleborn who had wound up becoming his Reth grandfather's favourite wife after a string of unlikely adventures along the White Nile. Blaise's father had been born in Cambridge, which combined with his magical ability and royal heritage had resulted in a Hogwarts invitation. Gerard Ochollo Nyareth had been a Gryffindor; he'd married Angelique Zabini two years after graduating and they'd been, if his Nonno was to be believed, madly in love with one-another. However it hadn't lasted: barely three years into the marriage, in the confusion following the Voldemort War, Blaise's father had been murdered and the Ministry just hadn't been interested in hunting down the guilty parties. A lot of people had died in the chaos, so what was one more? Especially when that 'one more' was barely even a half blood by British Ministry standards; those in power didn't consider Shamanism to be proper magic.<p>

His mother hadn't taken it well; she was a Zabini and the family hadn't got to where it was now by letting their enemies walk all over them. She'd moved back to Italy with her two-year-old son and begun her own campaign against the men who'd murdered her beloved, with the might and weight of the Zabini family behind her. Having been raised between the family home just outside Rieti –amongst a horde of second and third cousins– and his nonno's chateau in France, Blaise had expected to attend La Scuola Sabina or maybe Beauxbatons; the Hogwarts letter had been a surprise. However upon seeing it his mother had insisted he attend, as a way to become closer to his father. Blaise honestly didn't even remember his father; his mother's cousin Graziano Zabini had filled the role more than any of his stepfathers. However Blaise knew better than to cross his mother, so he accepted that he'd be attending school in Scotland and resigned himself to dark days, long nights, bitter cold, endless rain and really awful food.

He hadn't expected Dorea Black, but Blaise suspected that _nobody_ expected Dorea. It was part of her charm. She was utterly honest about her scheming tendencies, resolutely dedicated to expanding her knowledge and influence, genuinely attached to her friends and clearly believed that the unwritten rules of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry only applied to her when she allowed them to. The amusing thing was that she was right: her utter certainty that she had the right to make any connections she wanted regardless of house, heritage and social status had led just about everybody else to go along with her and the culture of the school was gradually changing in her wake. He'd befriended her just to see what would happen and been startled to realise, when summer came around, that he'd follow her anywhere. Rhea saw him for himself rather than as the son of Madam Zabini, the Black Widow, or as the heir to a pureblood family that predated the founding of Rome. To her he was Zee and that was more than enough.

This clear-sightedness had inspired Blaise's determination to help Dorea in any way she wished and had prompted him to pick up the rapier again; it also persuaded him to write to his grandfather in Africa –well, his grandmother since he had never got a chance to learn Chollo– to ask about learning the traditional magic of his heritage. He'd been invited to visit and learn over the summer, as he had actually inherited more of his father's dowsing and water manipulation skills than the traditional Zabini pyrokinesis, though he was still naturally fireproof. His commitment to his friendship with Dorea also led him to observe her closely and ensure her deep, well-trained temper didn't get her into trouble.

This was why, when while waiting outside the greenhouses for Professor Sprout Draco insulted Hermione, the first thing he did was grab Dorea's elbow so she didn't curse the idiot.

* * *

><p>"Nobody asked your opinion, you filthy little mudbloo–"<p>

Hermione was slowly and painfully coming to the conclusion that she was nowhere near as good at dealing with people as she had previously believed, not that she'd ever got very far with her peers in primary school. She'd thought that was their fault, but she was coming to realise that she was at least half of the problem and it wasn't a nice feeling. Coupled with this realisation was the uncomfortable little whisper in her mind that insisted she personally didn't _want_ to be good at getting along with people because most people were wilfully blind idiots and not worth her time. Padma was good at keeping the idiots at a distance or calming Hermione down when their stupidity irritated her, but having to deal with Dorea Black on a regular basis had taught Hermione that intelligent people could be irritating too. Especially when they were right or knew something you didn't. Interacting with Rhea had also taught Hermione a lot about Magical culture, most of it bigoted, backward or counter-intuitive. Insults had been included; Dorea had wanted Hermione to know when people were disparaging her so she could retaliate appropriately. 'Mudblood' was a term Dorea had referred to as 'crass, low-class and unimaginatively pureblood-supremacist' and informed her was a term of insult for Muggleborns, implying they were less than human. Hermione was not surprised Malfoy had spat the word out; what puzzled her was that he'd not managed to finish his sentence before suddenly choking and clutching at his throat.

Pansy immediately rushed to help, but it rapidly became apparent that Malfoy's inability to breathe was entirely malicious: he was choking on nothing at all. However no wands had been drawn, the Ravenclaws were all looking alarmed and the Slytherins…

Hermione's eye was drawn to Dorea, whose left arm was firmly caught in Blaise's grip and whose face wore an expression of genuinely disturbing apathy. Her eyebrows were faintly arched, her eyes slightly narrowed, her mouth pulled into a thoughtful moue as she contemplated her cousin as he clawed at his throat, face starting to shade into purple. A quick glance at Dorea's hands proved she hadn't drawn her wand, but Hermione could not shake the chilling feeling that the tall, green-eyed brunette was the source of Malfoy's distress.

Then Dorea finally turned in response to Daphne's murmured query, Malfoy collapsed to the ground gasping for breath and the moment passed, Professor Sprout arriving just in time to send the wheezing boy to the Hospital Wing. Hermione recognised that she knew very little about internal Slytherin politics, but she knew one of the cardinal rules was that snakes were not to get into arguments where any of the other houses could see them. That Dorea was capable of wordless, wandless magic seemed rather plausible, considering; that she had half-killed her own cousin in public for undermining her campaign to improve student relations was however rather extreme.

Hermione did her best to ignore the part of her that insisted that Malfoy had it coming and that Dorea had been remarkably restrained in enacting vengeance. That part of her would have had her curse Malfoy herself had Dorea not got there first.


	24. Chapter 24

Beta'd by the x-ceptional InsaneScriptist

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><p><strong>Of regrets and unfortunate events <strong>

On the morning of Halloween Sirius unfolded his copy of the Daily Prophet to glance at the headlines before moving on to the more accurate articles contained in the higher-numbered internal pages and paused, teacup halfway to his mouth.

_Department Head Found Dead in Home!_

Setting his tea aside, the Lord Black perused the article in greater detail. Mr Crouch, technically Sirius' second cousin once removed via Callidora and Cedrella's late younger sister Charis, had been found dead in his home the previous morning. Healers called to the scene had determined the cause of death to be apoplexy, specifically a sudden and severe bleeding in the brain brought on by old age and high levels of stress. The Aurors had deemed the death not suspicious and were therefore not investigating. Mr Crouch had died at the dinner table and fallen face-first in his mashed potatoes; the reporter went on to list how many duties Crouch was currently undertaking, his past career and the level of scrutiny he had been subject to when it had come out that Sirius Black, sentenced to life in Azkaban while Crouch was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had been proven to not only be innocent but denied a trial at all. This had resulted in every single case Crouch had presided over being re-examined and Barty Crouch Junior being posthumously pardoned of any personal involvement in the torture of the Longbottoms, as it turned out he had simply been visiting the Lestranges when the Aurors broke down the door looking for their two kidnapped colleagues. Yes he'd been marked, but Riddle had wanted him for his father's ministry connections as a step towards taking over the government. He'd never so much as cursed a single Muggle.

It coming out that Crouch had sentenced not one but _two_ innocents to Azkaban, one of them his own son, had all but killed what was left of his career. He'd only just managed to stay in the Ministry at all and had been swiftly shunted into the Department of International Magical Cooperation, well out of the eye of the British Magical public. His knowledge of languages and law –not to mention his impeccable lineage– kept him in a job there, but Crouch had been firmly cut off from the position of Minister of Magic that he had so craved. The journalist –thankfully not Rita Skeeter– indicated that they were not at all surprised that he'd driven himself into an early grave; good riddance to him.

Sirius had felt sorry for Barty Crouch when the teenager had been manhandled into a cell not far from his own one. His terrible screaming, which had soon subsided into muffled sobbing and fevered mumbling, had been a sobering reminder that cruelty was not limited to Death Eaters. Finding out that the poor boy who'd barely lasted a year in the oppressive atmosphere of Azkaban had been as innocent as Sirius himself had been a bitter blow; Sirius had been cruelly reminded of Regulus. Regulus, who'd been Barty Crouch's year-mate and had shared a dormitory with him. Regulus who'd been led astray by Riddle's poisonous promises and died for it, his poor baby brother who'd had no-one to turn to and had died heroically trying to do the right thing. Barty Crouch Jr. had been his and Regulus' third cousin and Sirius bitterly regretted how he had naively allowed himself to be seduced into viewing the world in black and white when he knew very well that things were always more complicated than that. Dumbledore had made things sound so simple and the war had made suspicion and cruelty seem rational responses to the atmosphere, but Sirius knew better now. So many people had died for the blind ambition of two old men and that was something Sirius would do anything to keep from repeating itself.

That his family were supporting him in that very endeavour was both strange and wonderful, but Sirius' older relatives had always been much cannier than his mother's side of the family. Of Cygnus' children Cousin Andy had inherited all the available sanity, while Cissa had all the low cunning, leaving all the madness to Bella. Sirius could see that he wasn't much better than Bella had been in the matter of hot-temperedness and obsessions, but he controlled it better than she'd ever bothered to. The potions helped, as did having money to manage, dependents to care for and a child to raise. He'd gone and become respectable, damnit. Well, semi-respectable: Blacks were too mired in the darker side of business and the sane ones were too cruelly self-aware to ever consider themselves truly respectable. Powerful yes, Devoted to the Family cause certainly, Feared preferably, but never respectable. Respectability was too confining.

Shaking his head, Sirius had to wonder what would have happened had he and Barty been given proper trials. Ironically, it was entirely plausible that Crouch Senior would have made Minister if he'd actually pursued justice rather than simply handing out punishment in his zealous haste and irrational hatred of everything Dark.

* * *

><p>Dorea spent Halloween in a knot of ever-increasing tension. She <em>knew<em> something was wrong, _knew_ something was going to happen and didn't know enough to prevent it. Her friends picked up on her nerves easily and stuck close, which prompted the other Slytherins to stick close and move in groups as well. The Ravenclaws noticed and responded accordingly, which the Hufflepuffs picked up on and passed on to the Gryffindors. By dinner no students were moving around unaccompanied which made Dorea's self-appointed task of identifying the possessed student both easier and harder. Easier because she'd managed to determine that the unfortunate was indeed among the first-year lions, but harder because she had no idea which one it was. A nine in ten chance of being wrong was not good odds when the element of surprise was her only advantage.

Dinner however passed without incident, dessert following the main course without pause or interruption. Dorea lingered in the Entrance Hall after the plates had finally been cleared away, wondering about the possibility of her instincts leading her astray when there was a shriek from the first floor corridor that the lions took on the way back to their common room. Filled with an abrupt sense of dread Dorea darted up the stairs, Zee and Dee at her heels and Draco not far behind. Pushing through the unsettlingly silent crowd Dorea came to a halt in front of the haunted and perpetually out-of-order girls' bathroom where Moaning Myrtle could usually be found sulking and took in the glistening red letters daubed on the wall above a spreading puddle of water:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Dorea felt a bubble of white-hot ire welling up from somewhere around her stomach. Oh yes, her enemies had bloody well _better_ beware, because whoever had been party to this ridiculous piece of melodrama was going to _suffer_ for ruining her year like this! She didn't care if they were possessed, they had it coming!

Draco pushed through the crowd to stand beside her, slightly dishevelled and flushed from the run up the stairs. Dorea felt rather than heard him take a breath and turned just far enough for him to catch the expression on her face. Her cousin flinched, deflating slightly as he took in the scene with hungry eyes. He still looked completely thrilled by the turn of events; if ever Dorea had needed proof that Draco was at heart as recklessly naïve as a Gryffindor here it was. Her cousin had not an ounce of sense for timing his words appropriately but at least this time he kept his mouth shut.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Dorea did not turn to look as the voice of Argus Filch echoed along the deathly silent corridor. Her attention had been caught by the slightly fuzzy shadow hanging beneath the writing on the wall. It looked unnaturally stiff for a dead thing.

Filch shouldered his way through the students blocking the hallway and came to a halt in the open space directly in front of the writing, then fell back in horror at the sight of the thing hanging beneath.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?" He shrieked.

"That's Mrs Norris?" Dee murmured curiously as Blaise swore quietly but earnestly in Italian.

"Which of you little monsters murdered my cat?" The caretaker screeched, whirling around to glare at the assembled students.

"I don't think she's dead, Mr Filch," Dorea said clearly, feeling as though she was standing a long way away from her own body. "I saw her barely an hour ago and it takes longer than that for rigor mortis to set in. Is she under a full body bind perhaps?"

Her words were still echoing down the hallway as Filch stared at her with something wild and strange in his eyes when Dumbledore swept onto the scene followed by Professors Snape, McGonagall and Lockhart.

"Come with me, Argus," the headmaster said calmly. "Students, please return to your common rooms."

Dorea allowed Blaise to tug her away from the set-up, following obediently as he led their little group down a back staircase that led directly to the basement level, along a corridor then down another steep staircase into the lower dungeons.

"Draco," Dorea said abruptly as they walked down a narrow and empty corridor lit by sparse, flickering torches and notably bare of portraits, "did you know this was going to happen?"

Dee and Zee both turned on the platinum blond boy, backing him against the wall. Draco seemed to suddenly notice that he was alone with the only three of his year-mates who could easily get away with hexing him into the Hospital Wing and paled abruptly.

"N-n-no," he stammered, eyes darting from one unfriendly face to the next. "My father said I should keep my head down this year so I guessed _something _was going on, but–"

"Thank-you Draco," Dorea said quietly, her shoulders relaxing. "Draco, remember how when we were six Grandfather talked to us about Family secrets?" This was a risky move to make but Draco did have a brain for all he rarely used it. Maybe this would encourage him to do so. A bit of Slytherin good sense and some trust might actually get him to think and notice things as he should.

"Yes," her cousin said warily, glancing from Daphne to Blaise in suspicion.

"Daphne had Pledged allegiance to me and Blaise has Pledged brotherhood," Dorea said calmly, "so I know this secret will go no further. Draco, _I_ am the Heir of Slytherin and I have the Gringotts letter at home to prove it." The blood inheritance ritual had been most enlightening. "Whoever is doing this in an imposter stealing my heritage."

Draco's jaw dropped. "_You_? But, but!"

"I don't strictly count, being female," Dorea went on pleasantly, "and having inherited through my mother, but I have the blood and the associated Family gift. So I would be most grateful if you really did keep quiet on the matter until I manage to ferret out who is moving against me in such a crass manner."

Her cousin blinked, closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes. "You think this is an attack on the Family?"

Dorea spread her hands out. "What else could it be, Draco? Someone is attempting to demonise the Slytherins, which will lead to an increase in the isolation I am trying to end so we can further our influence. As it stands we are automatically suspected of foul play simply because were belong to the house of the snakes. Our careers are hindered, our reach limited. Someone is masquerading as the Heir of Slytherin to sow fear in the school, which may well lead to the school being closed. How can we acquire information and familiarise ourselves with those who would oppose us if we cannot interact with them unsupervised?"

Dorea knew very well she was likely dealing with Tom Riddle, former Heir of Slytherin, but that didn't mean her story wasn't plausible. Draco certainly bought it.

"That's why you're befriending all kinds of riffraff like Granger? To further the Family advantage?"

"Dumbledore has ruled our world for far too long," Dorea said quietly and with utmost sincerity. "We cannot overthrow him without allies in every camp. One must appeal to the majority in order to be accepted, no matter how distasteful we may find certain traits of our allies."

Draco nodded, looking as serious as Dorea had ever seen him. Finally, proof that he _could_ think sensibly if he wanted to! Maybe all hope for him wasn't lost after all. "My apologies cousin, I didn't think of it that way. I'll keep my opinions to the common room in future."

Dorea smiled. "Thank-you Draco; perhaps you could let drop that whoever's behind this 'heir' business is rather lacking in class? I mean, painting dramatic messages on the wall and attacking Filch's _cat_ of all things? You'd think it was a cheap Muggle theatre production!"

Draco had clearly not considered things in this light before and screwed up his nose in disgust. "And outside a girl's bathroom of all places! I see what you mean Dorea; nobody properly brought-up would stoop to such things."

"Blood and bodies in the Entrance Hall or nothing," Dorea joked, her smile predatory. "Oh, and since I know you can keep a secret cousin–" she turned her attention to Fizz "–_come on out, Fizz: I want to show you off to my brood-mate._"

Draco was not the only one to quail at the unearthly hisses that emerged from her lips as the green-and-black head of her pet snake emerged from under the collar of her uniform.

"Y-y-you…" Draco trailed off, then recovered. "You're a parselmouth, cousin?"

Dorea inclined her head. "I said I had the Slytherin Family gift, didn't I? Let's keep it between us for now, please. I'd rather not have Dumbledore and the rest of the bigoted so-called Light Wizards breathing down my neck and accusing me of being the next Morgana le Fay."

"No matter how true that might be," Zee added drolly, making both Dee and Draco snort.

"Fine, I'll leave you to your plotting cousin," Draco agreed, sighing. "Do _please_ keep me informed though?"

"I will, but I suggest you focus more on Quidditch," Dorea said mischievously. "After all, do well and you will make some priceless connections with the older players as well as gain a following among the younger students."

Draco swelled in pride at the perceived 'compliment' of his cunning in getting on the Quidditch team and Dorea turned to continue down towards the common room, the other three falling in step around her. The green-eyed second-year hoped this new approach with Draco would work; his marks at the end of last year had proved he had a keen mind so it was clearly just a matter of finding the right approach in order to encourage him to use it. This might eventually enable him to step out of his father's shadow and become his own person, which could only be for the better.

* * *

><p>Dorea spent the following week introducing Zee and Dee to the parsel-locked passages around the castle and the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Said portrait was happy to confirm the existence of the Chamber but refused to give details as to its location, stating that to 'prove her worthiness' she had to find it for herself. He was however happy to tell her all about how he'd managed to build it right under the noses of the other three founders and about his travels prior to returning to Hogwarts. Dorea steered the conversation towards Creatures capable of speaking and understanding parseltongue that he'd met on his travels and took extensive notes, occasionally asking questions on behalf of her friends who were no less fascinated by the animated likeness of the patron of their House even though he only spoke parseltongue.<p>

By the time the first Quidditch match of the season came around Dorea had a very detailed list of potential inhabitants of the Chamber of Secrets with the most likely suspects marked by a star. She would have liked to have involved Trey in all this, but Trey had drifted towards Millie Bulstrode while in-house and spent most of her time when outside the Slytherin quarters with Padma and Hermione, giggling over Lockhart. Dee found this just as distressing as Dorea did, but Dawn reassured them both that their friend would get over it so they just got on with things without her as best they could. Zee helped them both with his charm and humour and Draco had become miraculously more tolerable after their little chat, which was a relief. Pansy rather amusingly was just as smitten with Lockhart as most of the other younger girls so she didn't bother with Dorea and her coterie much.

Dorea felt that the most likely inhabitant of the Chamber of Secrets was a Basilisk, though she could not rule out Nagas, Lamias, Gorgons or a Hydra. Cockatrices and Runespoors were too small to be considered, a Sea Serpent would be unsuitable and Ashwinders didn't live long enough. Wyverns and Lindworms also spoke parseltongue and most dragons understood it, even though they didn't always speak it from what Slytherin had told her of his travels. Dorea personally doubted that Slytherin would have brought a Naga or a Gorgon back to Britain as they were Beings rather than Creatures, but Lamias were very dangerous to children and a Hydra would be a total nightmare to deal with. She was still leaning towards the Basilisk idea though, as it was called 'The King of Serpents' and that pretentiousness would have appealed greatly to the man whose portrait she was by now rather familiar with.

However Quidditch put the research project on hold, since Draco would be playing and in light of their reconciliation Dorea had promised to cheer for him in the match against Gryffindor. That Terence would be enforcing hers and Blaise's attendance was the final nail in the coffin; she would have to wrap up warmly and sit outside in the early Scottish winter with just about everyone else. At least it would give her the opportunity to approach some of the Gryffindor firsties without attracting attention.


	25. Chapter 25

Beta'd by the youthful InsaneScriptist.

* * *

><p><strong>Of having the misfortune of being right <strong>

Dorea might not have minded sitting through the Quidditch match if it hadn't started raining barely twenty minutes in. Admittedly it had been pretty damn obvious from the ominous slate-grey clouds that rain had been in the cards today, but that didn't mean Dorea _enjoyed_ huddling in her winter cloak, the hood pulled up to shade her face with Warming Charms ensuring her gloves, scarf and socks actually kept her comfortable rather than simply making sure she survived the icy downpour. Dee on her left was almost sitting in her lap with how close she was snuggling and Blaise was so hunched sideways in his attempt to shelter from the wind his face was inches from Dorea's own.

"_Crappy rain, stupid shit sport, moron wizard bastards for inventing it,_" she muttered mutinously in Italian as Zee mumbled agreement with every profanity uttered.

"Sorry Rhea; it's more fun to play and you don't notice the cold so much in the air," Terence said apologetically from her other side, reaching out to wrap an arm around her shoulders and shelter her from the bitter wind. "How about a compromise: I'll show up early to get seats in the sheltered stands and you come along and watch without my chivvying you."

Dorea eyed him sideways. "Can't I just skip out on the wet games entirely? I hate getting cold." She really did, since it made her feel sick to her stomach and it took her forever to warm up again afterwards. There was a reason she had all those expensive cashmere vests in her trunk and it wasn't that they went well with her complexion. Warming Charms could only go so far, as evidenced by their soggy, miserable weather-induced huddling.

"You really need to socialise more Rhea," Rence said with a wry smile that made Dorea's stomach wobble strangely. "You were enjoying bantering with the firsties before the game, weren't you? Don't you feel a part of something bigger out here?"

"You are evil and I hate you," Dorea said flatly, but without much heat as Sally-Anne shot past on the Cleansweep Seven she'd borrowed from Neville. Sally-Anne was the new Gryffindor Seeker and was actually pretty good, though Dorea had no idea why Neville owned a broom when he'd never ridden on one before last year and didn't like flying much at all. Maybe it had belonged to one of his parents?

It had actually been nice to meet some of the new lions separately before the game and her badger cousin had even introduced her to a few of them, which had enabled her to cross two girls and four boys of her 'potentially possessed' list. That left another four girls –there were rather more girls than boys in their year, with nearly half the boys being Muggleborn– including Ginny Weasley, whom Dorea was starting to get a bad feeling about. After all, if it came out that the youngest child of the cheerfully ineffectual, Muggle-loving and Dumbledore-supporting Arthur Weasley was attacking Muggleborns, things could go very badly for said man and his new Muggle Protection Act which was currently moving through the courts. If that was the case it was entirely possible that someone had _deliberately_ exposed the littlest Weasley to a Horcrux, which rather limited the suspect pool as the number of people Riddle would have trusted with such an item was very limited, especially when you crossed of the Lestranges due to their one having been destroyed already.

Dorea didn't actually care _how_ one of her school-mates had wound up possessed; she was more interested in identifying them and coming up with a way to reverse the affliction before it killed them. She suspected the Soul Fire that was part and parcel of her Blood Ward would be able to purge a possession –it had after all protected her– but she didn't know how much it would damage the person possessed. In her own body the Ward reinforced, strengthened and healed, but it might not do the same in others. However if the choice was between killing an innocent and horribly maiming said innocent, Dorea would go with maiming every time. Even if it meant she was more likely to get in trouble since her involvement could be proven.

"Aw, Rhea! You say the sweetest things!" Terence teased, ruffling her damp hair with frozen, sodden fingers. Dorea pushed him away, confused by the warmth in her chest and the sudden heat in her face. Why did she like Rence touching her all of a sudden? It didn't make sense!

* * *

><p>After the game –which Slytherin lost quite unexpectedly when Sally-Anne Perks caught the snitch from right on top of Draco's head– Dorea went directly back to the dorms for a long hot shower, then up to the hospital wing. George Weasley had broken his arm when two bludgers converged on him from different directions and Lockhart, in a stunning display of ineptitude, had Vanished all his bones from the elbow down. Fred had needed to be sat on to prevent him from killing the strutting ponce and Dorea strongly suspected that the elder Weasley Twin would be making it his mission to torture the incompetent Defence teacher into a nervous breakdown. Dorea was tempted to help; it would be good practice for her investigations into Parselmagic…<p>

George was about as well as could be expected considering his right arm looked like a deflated balloon, but Fred was with him and the dreadful duo were cheerfully confusing everyone –Madam Pomphrey included– as to which twin it was who had been injured. It never ceased to irritate Dorea that she was the _only_ person –their parents included– who was never fooled by the constant switches and twin-speak. Not even their own siblings paid enough attention to tell twin from twin, which was despicable behaviour. Padma and Pavarti were equally identical, but their parents knew them apart, encouraged them in their separate hobbies and recognised that they had two daughters rather than one daughter who happened to have two bodies and two names to choose from. To everyone bar Dorea the Weasley twins were Fred-and-George and she found it less amusing that the twins liked to pretend it was. She could tell they didn't like it much either, but playing it up for laughs made them feel better about the whole issue. It was why she hadn't bothered to clear up the confusion over which twin was actually injured.

Dorea left them to their cheerful plotting of how to go about smuggling some butterbeer into the Hospital Wing and retreated back to the Slytherin Common Room for a spar and an early night. Ric had agreed to allow her to start using a _real_ sword after Christmas provided she kept up her current rate of improvement and Dorea was looking forward to being able to pick one that suited her out of the Family Vaults. At this rate she might actually be good enough to no longer require structured lessons by the time Avery graduated at the end of the next school year. Being recognised as competent with a sword was something Dorea was desperate to achieve sooner rather than later, as evidenced by her hard work and constant practice.

In Charms she and the rest of her little group were about a year ahead, in Battle Magic –as that was what the jinxes, hexes and curses learned in Defence technically were– they had completed the year's curriculum and were well into independently expanding their expertise, in Transfiguration they were not ahead but were definitely completely capable and confident in themselves, in Potions Dorea had got Neville to the point that he actually turned in a functional potion about half the time and rarely caused explosions –her own independent work was going very well too as Hermione and Padma had pitched in– and she was apparently at about fourth-year-level in Runes, though the ones she was best at –Chinese Runes– were not taught at Hogwarts at all. Herbology Dorea enjoyed but lacked both talent and enthusiasm for, History she was seriously considering avoiding entirely and Astronomy she suffered through ungraciously. Her grades in the latter three however were impeccable regardless of her lack of interest. At least after taking her OWLs in the last two in the first week of the Christmas holidays she could stop attending them and would have more free time to work with.

Her grades in her optional classes were also high, with her Ancient Studies teacher talking about letting her move up a grade in the spring, the Art Professor starting her on the complicated Animating Charms involved in giving her paintings more semblance of life than simple movement and the Music teacher –who evaluated her progress once a fortnight– had actually smiled warmly at her this week. Professor Runcorn was a stern, unrelenting perfectionist so that was high praise indeed, especially since he had been firmly disapproving of her preference for 'Muggle music' until he had discovered how much more complex and well-written it was. Dorea loved learning but not for its own sake: she loved first and foremost being able to _do_, so all that she learned had practical applications. This was where she differed from Padma and Hermione, both of whom loved knowledge for its own sake.

* * *

><p>"<em>Wake up Mistress! Wake up! Basileia wanders the halls and threatens those under your protection!<em>"

Dorea's eyes flew open, blinking blearily at the boomslang that was hissing at her frantically.

"_Basileia?_" she repeated bemusedly.

"_The Queen of Serpents moves through your nest and she hungers, Mistress!_" the snake insisted, swaying in agitation. Dorea scooped up the nervous serpent and placed him around her neck as she pulled on an extra pair of socks, a warm jumper and slippers and wrapped her invisibility cloak around herself. It seemed 'Slytherin's monster' was indeed a Basilisk, a female one if Fizz was to be believed, and it was even now at large. This meant that Fred Weasley's plan to visit his twin in the Hospital Wing had the potential to go very wrong for him and she really needed to warn them both. Not bothering to go even as far as the common room, Dorea turned to one of the serpentine statues in the corridor connecting the girls' dormitories and hissed the password:

"_Make way for the heiress._"

The snake shifted with a grinding of stone, revealing a steep, narrow staircase that Dorea hurried up even as behind her the statue returned to its original position, cutting off all light. Not that Dorea needed light; holding out a hand from under the cloak she murmured a spell that conjured Coldfire, enabling her to continue up the spiral stair without risking injury.

The staircase emerged behind a tapestry of a Lamia on the first floor, not far from the viaduct. It was also less than five minutes' walk from the Hospital Wing, so Dorea extinguished the conjured fire, wrapped her cloak around her once more and made her way silently and invisibly past the dozing portraits to the wide double doors that marked the entrance to the infirmary. Slipping inside, Dorea noted that George's bed at the far end and he looked to be asleep. Fred was nowhere to be seen, which was worrying. She stole over to the redhead's side, let her cloak slide off onto the floor and tapped him on the nose.

George woke with a groan, his forehead wrinkling in pain from the partially-regrown bones in his arm as he opened his eyes and blinked at her. While he'd managed to get to sleep earlier despite the pain he was in, it might take him a bit longer to drop off again as the mid-phase of bone regrowth was supposedly the most painful part.

"Fred?"

"No, it's me," Dorea said patiently as she settled on the edge of the bed. "I've found out what Slytherin's monster is."

George's eyes widened. "What is it?"

"Basilisk," Dorea said grimly. "They can kill with a look, making wandering around at night extremely unsafe right now. I was hoping Fred would be here, since it's almost midnight, but if he isn't–"

George looked sick at the implications and tried to get out of bed, but Dorea shifted forwards so she was sitting on his chest. "Look, we don't _know_, do we? He might just have got caught by McGonagall and sent back to the Gryffindor dorms. Or there was no butterbeer left in Gryffindor Tower so he had to go and get some first." Dorea knew there were passages to Hogsmeade and that the twins knew where they were; how else did you explain their ability to get hold of sweets, chocolate and butterbeer at less than an hour's notice?

George still looked distinctly unhappy but stopped trying to get out of bed.

"That might be him now," Dorea added hopefully, her ears picking up the sound of footsteps.

However it quickly became clear that more than one person was moving down the hallway outside and Dorea slid off the bed and pulled the invisibility cloak over herself even as George lay back on the cushions and pretended to be asleep.

The doors to the hospital wing opened to reveal Professor Dumbledore backing into the room, holding one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall followed after him moments later holding the feet. The Transfiguration Professor was fully dressed, indicating she'd been patrolling the castle, but the headmaster was wearing a dressing gown and nightcap. They placed the statue on a bed; it was about as tall as McGonagall and was wearing red pyjamas.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore whispered and McGonagall swept past the end of the bed George was in towards the Matron's office and quarters, walking within a foot of where Dorea was huddled on the cold floor. Carefully rising to her knees and doing her best to make as little noise as possible, Dorea peered over the bed to get a better look at the statue Dumbledore was standing over. At that moment moonlight streamed in through the tall windows and Dorea had to employ all of her mental discipline not to gasp.

Lying on the bed, eyes wide and vacant with one hand held up as if leaning on a wall and peering around a corner, was Fred Weasley. At that moment McGonagall swept back into the room, Madam Pomfrey on her heels. Dorea took advantage of the brief increase in ambient noise to shift over so she was kneeling right beside George's pillow and clamped one hand down over his mouth, making sure the angle was about right for her to be hiding under the bed rather than beside him and invisible. The way Papa had told it Dumbledore hadn't known Uncle James had an invisibility cloak until after they graduated, but now he was aware of the possibility of invisible students at large he had likely taken precautions.

"What happened?" Madame Pomfrey asked as George's eyes opened wide.

"Another attack; Minerva found him near the mirror at the corner of the main fourth floor corridor and the hospital tower corridor," Dumbledore said gravely. "He had a case of butterbeer with him; we believe he was coming to the hospital wing to visit his twin."

George's eyes bulged and his face paled horribly, his entire body stiffening as a horrified moan tried to get past his tightly closed lips. Dorea kept her hand firmly in place, palm braced against the underside of George's chin so he couldn't move his jaw.

"Petrified?" Madame Pomfrey whispered.

"Yes," McGonagall said. "But I shudder to think… If Albus hadn't taken a detour on his way down to the kitchens for some hot chocolate, who knows what might have…"

George went limp in relief, his eyes briefly fluttering closed. Dorea took a deep, slow breath, trying to calm her frantically pounding heart. Not dead, thank God and Merlin, Fred wasn't dead.

"What does this _mean _Albus?" The Transfiguration professor asked urgently.

"It means," Dumbledore said slowly, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."

Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. McGonagall looked shocked.

"But Albus… who?"

"The question is not _who_," Dumbledore said, staring with furrowed brow at Fred Weasley. "The question is, _how_?"

McGonagall didn't seem to understand but Dorea did, all too well. Riddle had clearly opened the Chamber before –probably while he was at Hogwarts as a student– and Dumbledore now realised Riddle was somehow in the school again. She would have to write to Aunt Lucretia about the last time the Chamber was opened and step up her investigation into who out of the younger lions was possessed. George would help her there; right now he'd probably hand over his soul if she told him it would revive his twin. Thinking of which, she'd have to ask Aunt Lucretia to see about getting hold of mature mandrakes as well; Professor Sprout's mandrakes that they were studying in Herbology wouldn't be ready until May at the earliest so they'd have to see about shipping them in from the southern hemisphere. Probably New Zealand. That way Fred could be revived around New Year, early February at the latest. That would help Fred, George and any future victims but it was both typical and suspicious that Dumbledore wasn't taking the same steps since he clearly knew what was going on from prior experience. The headmaster had no need to wander about a draughty castle at night in search of hot chocolate when a house-elf could be summoned to bring it to his bedside.

After the professors had left Dorea swiftly removed the cloak and sat back on top of George before he could get out of bed.

"Get off me! Fred–"

"Is fine," Dorea hissed urgently. "Petrified people can't be harmed by anything less than the Killing Curse; the magic keeping them petrified protects them. He's in stasis and won't remember anything between it happening and being revived. He won't age either, so you're going to have to get used to being the older twin from now on."

George made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a sob.

"Look, I'm down to four possible suspects on the whole 'Heir of Slytherin' thing," the twelve-year-old went on, "and I'm pretty sure it's one of the first-year Gryffindor girls who is possessed by whatever's doing it. If I can get into the tower I can identify specifically which girl it is–"

"Password's 'Bat-Bogey' right now," George interrupted hoarsely.

"–right, thank-you. Then I have to get them out of Hogwarts to Uncle Ignatius and Aunt Lucretia, as they know how to get rid of possessing spirits without killing the person afflicted," Dorea continued, "which unfortunately will have to wait until Christmas as I do not trust Dumbledore to call in an expert. He'd probably try to deal with himself, like he is doing now when he _really_ should have got a Curse-Breaker in right after Halloween. In fact, he should have got somebody in way back when people started muttering about the Defence position being cursed. He's a Transfiguration Master and a Duellist but he seems to think that being Albus Dumbledore makes him an expert in everything."

"Great-Uncle Iggy can do that?" George's eyes brightened briefly. "Cool." He'd not seemed to notice her brief rant at Dumbledore but Dorea suspected he'd heard it and would be remembering it. George could hold grudges just as well as his twin, he was just less obviously vicious about it. Both twins had rather a lot of their grandmother Cedrella in them.

"I'll see about getting some Mandrakes shipped over from New Zealand as well so you don't have to wait until June for Fred to be back to his normal self," Dorea promised. "In the meantime, are you going to be okay in Gryffindor without him?"

George swallowed hard, tears welling up. "Dorea…"

"It's okay if you're not," Dorea said quietly. "I can come up with something to keep you in school and away from your house-mates until Fred's up and about again. I can't imagine how you're feeling right now but I guess a change would help you not to think about it too much."

George stared at her, tears glittering on his eyelashes. "How?"

"I can hide you in Slytherin; I've got a _lot_ of pull as Heiress Black and an idea of how to make sure you get politely overlooked," Dorea said, mind whirring through her hastily-cobbled-together plan. "You'd take lessons mostly with the fourth-year snakes and ravens, all of whom know better than to poke their noses into personal matters, and sleep in the Slytherin dorms, but you'll have to not take advantage of it to pull pranks. The common rooms and dorms are a safe place, a retreat, and I'll not be party to ruining that."

"Deal," George promised quietly. "I… I really don't feel up to pranking anyone right now."

"I'll come get you in the morning; _don't_ leave before I get there," Dorea said urgently, "and be prepared to go along with my story. With Slytherins image is half the battle so as long as I can make this _look_ right they'll overlook the reality in favour of the polite fiction." She huffed angrily. "Not even McGonagall knew which one of you had been Petrified! I'm not leaving you in such slipshod care when you're messed up like this!"

George shuddered, chuckling even as tears slipped down his cheeks. "Dearest, most wonderful and warlike Dorea, please never change. I… I don't know what to do. Fred's _always_ been there and now…" he trailed off with a sob. Dorea leaned forward so she could hug him, ignoring the wet patch he left on her shoulder. He really had to be hurting to fall apart like this in front of her.

"Don't worry: I'll look after you. You're my favourite Weasley but don't tell Fred, Bill, Charlie or your Granddad I said that, okay? If you want to talk about it you can write to Uncle Ignatius: I know he and Aunt Lucretia have had all kinds of scary near-misses over the years and he'd love to have somebody to write to. Most people he knows are dead or off being Curse-Breakers half a continent away."

"See you tomorrow then," George whispered, reluctantly letting go of her. Dorea hesitated before reaching inside her jumper to retrieve Fizz.

"Fizz will keep you company until I get back," she said, knowing that her pet understood English perfectly well by now. The snake slid out of her hands and down onto the blanket, making his way up to the pillow and curling up next to George's neck. "Don't worry: boomslang's are pretty shy and retiring and he won't even dry-bite you unless you hurt him first." Unspoken was that having Fizz hanging over his person would keep just about everyone in the building at arm's length; the boomslang was well over five feet long now and still growing.

George's smile was wan and barely there, but it was a smile. Dorea smiled worriedly back then slipped out of the Hospital Wing, pulling her cloak back on once she was past the doors. George in his distress hadn't even noticed her vanishing and reappearing under the Potter heirloom, but that was no reason to be careless.

She would check the Gryffindor girls tomorrow night or the night after, once she had George properly sorted out. He needed to be amongst people who would see him for himself and not as one-half of Fred-and-George, the Weasley Twins. Managing _that_ would take finesse, but she had a plan.


	26. Chapter 26

**Of coping strategies and giant spiders**

Despite her late-night excursion Dorea was up bright and early, even though it was Sunday and the only day of the week she could get away with a lie-in. She then invaded the fifth-year girls' dorm to talk to Dawn and Deborah about her plan, hurried up to the Owlery to send off a letter to Aunt Lucretia then cornered Rence and Ade Pucey as they emerged from the boys' dorms to tell them her plan. Dorea then spoke to Jennet Mulciber and Maximus Deverill, the seventh-year prefects, to get her plan their seal of approval. Neither exactly _liked_ her idea, but that she'd got the Twin in question to swear off pranks for the duration got their grudging agreement. Her list ticked off, Dorea strong-armed Rence into lending her some clothes –he and George were the same height and had similar enough builds– then dashed off to the Hospital Wing while most of her House were at breakfast.

Dorea entered just in time to hear Madam Pomfrey tell George –whom she called 'Mr Weasley'– that he could leave once he'd finished eating. She glanced over at Fred's bed, but it now had white curtains around it so nobody could see anything.

"Miss Black? What are you doing here?" Dorea looked back at the matron and blinked innocently.

"I brought Weasley a change of clothes since none of his dorm-mates seem to have bothered," she said airily, tossing the uniform and associated accessories onto the foot of the bed. Madam Pomfrey didn't notice that the clothing was edged with Slytherin colours and of better quality than George usually wore, but George did and glanced up at her curiously from the food he'd been picking at. Dorea let her eyes drop meaningfully to the garments, then up to meet his eyes before turning around and going outside to wait while he finished.

Ten minutes later George emerged, looking much smarter, neater and more subdued than usual with Fizz draped around his neck in plain sight instead of a tie. Fizz didn't seem to mind being neckwear for the tall Weasley, which was good because he was a vital part of her cunning plan. "So, plan?" he asked quietly.

"You are now Gerard Fornax Prewett; my cousin Jerry," Dorea said quietly as she led the way down a hidden passage that led to the kitchens; the Great Hall would be a bad idea right now. "I've already talked to Higgs and Pucey, who have promised to run interference for you. The seventh-year prefects have agreed to turn a blind eye and we're going to have to dye your hair so as not to cause upsets and help people accept the fiction. My cousins are sorting that out for me, so we'll deal with it after breakfast."

"Dye my hair?" George repeated bemusedly as they descended a narrow staircase that ended at the basement level.

"It's going to be light brown; that way you'll look less like yourself and people will find it easier to buy the story," Dorea said patiently. "Well, find it easier not to think about it too hard anyway. I've got to tell Professor Snape yet, but I've got the prefects in on it so I don't think he'll kick up a fuss."

"You didn't ask him first?" George asked incredulously as they reached the painting that hid the door into the kitchens.

"It is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission," Dorea said pragmatically as George tickled the pear in the picture until it giggled itself into a doorknob. "If I present it right he'll just ignore you until this is over."

Then George opened the door and the house-elves rushed to accommodate them, forcing the conversation to be set aside in favour of food. Dorea watched George like a hawk and noticed that he didn't eat much, possibly because Pomfrey had already fed him but more likely because he didn't have much appetite. Dorea could understand that: she hadn't really wanted to eat while Great-Aunt Cassiopeia was bedridden and unconscious because the very idea of food had made her feel sick. It was probably much worse for George.

Breakfast dealt with, Dorea led the way down to the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. However once they'd got there she didn't say the password: now it was Fizz's turn to do his part. The snake caught his cue and lifted his head from inside George's collar so he could hiss at the hidden door:

"_Make way for a true heir_."

The blank section of wall slid open to reveal the common room and Dorea caught George's hand so as to lead him over to where the prefects and about half the other fourth-years were waiting. This would be a test of her skills; one she would be looking forward to if so much hadn't been riding on it.

George followed without complaint, sat next to her on the couch and didn't even twitch as Mulciber and Deverill cast numerous Privacy Charms around them.

"Right Black, convince us," Ingrid Rosier said grimly, folding her arms under her ample chest. Rosier was one of the ones who really loathed the Weasleys on principle. Dorea started off by firing a quick Colour-Changing Charm at George, turning his hair mouse-brown. This would help Rosier and the others change their minds, since they would no longer look at George and think 'Weasley Twin' and of all the associated and sometimes well-justified dislike some had for the twins and the Weasley Family in general.

"This is my cousin Gerard Prewett, my Aunt Lucretia's son. Jerry, from the left these are fourth-years Pucey, Rosier, Richards, Howard, Higgs and Witt, fifth-year prefects Wilkes and Montague, sixth-year prefects Farley and Orpington and seventh-year prefects Mulciber and Deverill. Higgs has agreed to make sure you get to class, get the work done and don't accidentally fall down the stairs and die." She paused for effect, making sure the other students got her point. "Jerry's promised not to play any pranks at all in-house and I'm leaving Fizz with him so he can get into the common room without needing to know the password. He needs to be kept as far away from Gryffindors as possible unless he actually tells you he wants to talk to one of them and distracted from moping too much since he's never been alone before."

"Which one is he?" Rosier asked bluntly.

Dorea raised an eyebrow. "Does it really matter if you can't tell for yourself?"

"Do _you_ know which one he is?" Gemma Farley asked perceptively.

"Yes, I do," Dorea said firmly.

"And you're taking responsibility for his behaviour as Heiress Black and his cousin?" Denzel Orpington pressed.

"Yes, I am," Dorea promised.

"And you're fine with this, 'Prewett'," Orpington said sceptically.

George finally looked up from where he'd been staring at his hands. "I'll behave for Dorea," he said quietly.

"Why?" Rosier demanded. George looked over at her, eyes flat and empty.

"Because I know that if I don't she'll kill me and nobody will ever be able to prove she did it, let alone find my mutilated body." It might have been a joke, but if it was then George's humour had taken an abrupt turn for the deadpan and sarcastic.

There was a collective blink, then a chuckle from Deverill. "Sounds like W- Prewett's got you pegged, Black. Any more objections?"

There was a universal shaking of heads and the meeting broke up, Jennet Mulciber taking down the Privacy Charms so George could be hustled off to the girls' dormitories by Dawn and Deborah to have his hair dyed the Muggle way. Dorea was then cornered by her own friends, who wanted to know what on earth was going on. Dorea gave them the condensed version without revealing which twin had ended up hiding in the snake pit; if people couldn't work it out for themselves they didn't deserve to know. Dee seemed to accept the whole strange situation without any problem, while Zee was immensely amused for some reason Dorea couldn't quite get her head around and Trey looked like she'd just found out the sky was actually pink and clouds were made of marshmallow.

When George finally emerged with his newly dyed mousy hair even Dorea had to admit that the lack of red hair made it very hard to peg him as a Weasley: he had much the same pale and well-bred look as most of the other Slytherins despite the freckles and she could have quite easily walked past him in the corridors without recognising him. That he was being quiet and not grinning madly made it even harder to connect him to George Weasley, flamboyant prankster and Gryffindor. Dorea abruptly realised that her hare-brained plan was really going to work. She also realised that she had to go and visit Professor Snape in his office and tell him about this new state of affairs before he found out for himself over lunch.

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><p>Visiting Snape took less time than she'd expected: while he did indeed stare at her as though she'd lost her mind when she told him what she'd done, when she explained her method and reasoning he relented enough to actually go along with it. He even told her he would stall Professor McGonagall for George; it seemed her impassioned objection to leaving <em>anyone<em> in the care of someone who couldn't get your name right half the time had struck a chord in her Head of House. 'Prewett' would be integrated into Potions' class as though he'd always worn green and silver and any Gryffindor invasion attempts would be ruthlessly dealt with. Dorea did tell Professor Snape which twin was hiding in his care, but only because he was able to tell her how the two boys differed in skill and attitude; specifically that Fred was considerably better than his brother at Potions as well as the one who came up with the nastier prank ideas.

None of Gryffindor actually noticed that one of their number had defected to the Snake Pit for the better part of a week, partly because of the sheer number and level of ridiculous of the rumours flying around. The first rumour, started on Sunday afternoon, was that one of the Weasley Twins had been petrified. This brought with it all manner of concern from _all_ the students, as despite being considered 'blood traitors' by the more uptight purebloods the Weasleys had no Muggle heritage in their family tree for at least six generations. Arthur Weasley and Molly Weasley née Prewett both had pureblood parents, grand-parents and great-grandparents, all of well-established families. If the enemies of the so-called 'Heir of Slytherin' included Weasleys, their agenda was not as clear as had been initially believed. Muggeborns had yet to be targeted at all and this really drove up the fearful atmosphere.

Rather ironically, Dorea's improvised fabrication to get Draco to see sense had made the rounds in Slytherin and was being taken as fact. Every last snake was firmly of the opinion that they were dealing with an impostor and found the whole business positively infuriating, which was made worse by the year's Defence teacher being utterly incompetent. The fifth-years and seventh-years in particular had taken to either staring blankly at Lockhart during lessons or ignoring him entirely in favour of independent study, depending on their temperament. Dorea suspected George would be quietly consulted by various vengeance-seekers during his sojourn in the dungeons, which would hopefully help him get his mind of his situation and Lockhart out of the castle as soon as possible, so their Defence lessons could be spent more productively. According to Papa the fraud investigation was moving forward nicely, but they wouldn't be ready to inform the newspapers until January at the earliest.

The next rumour, which blew up and then over during Monday, was that _both_ Weasley Twins had been Petrified, hence why neither twin had been sighted since Saturday night. However by Tuesday morning the lions had noticed that only one bed in the Hospital Wing had been cordoned off and that was when things started to go a bit strange. Initially most of the lions, ravens and badgers believed that the twin that had not been Petrified –which one it was nobody was certain– had gone home, but the remaining Weasleys soon exploded that theory. Then the matter went in two directions at once: those lions who'd been more familiar with the twins started looking for their house-mate around the castle, believing him to be in hiding, while others started to gossip about how maybe there'd only ever been one Weasley 'twin' who had through accidental magic created a separate body for his alternate personality. There were other rumours as well, but that one rather stuck in Dorea's mind due to the sheer level of ridiculous.

Meanwhile George –answering to 'Jerry' or just 'Prewett'– quietly slunk from class to class in a knot of fourth-year Slytherins, Fizz, curled around his neck and looking, sounding and behaving nothing like his normal exuberant self. The fourth-year ravens had of course noticed that their class now included one more student but they did not pry and did not comment, keeping the matter to themselves. Ravens loved secrets, loved having information that others did not and were by far the most divided house despite how careless the lions were proving to be of their own. The fourth-year Hufflepuffs were also likely to have noticed the extra person in their Astronomy lessons, but Hufflepuffs were all about solidarity and protecting their friends so kept the secret to protect the visibly unhappy incognito Weasley who was clearly being very well cared for by the house of snakes. The Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, but fourth-year Potions was on Tuesday and Professor Snape had been in fine form, to the point that none of George's fellow lions had noticed that there were ten Slytherins in the room instead of the usual nine.

Dorea's year numbered only ten per house, but the Weasley Twins' year was even smaller: nine Slytherins, eight Ravenclaws, nine Hufflepuffs and ten Gryffindors, with the Twins being the reason it wasn't just nine per house. This meant that usually one Slytherin would have to brew alone, but the lions had been too distracted to notice that Pucey was sitting with Witt rather than Higgs or that Rence's current partner looked a lot like the missing Weasley. Rence had regaled the story to her with much humour, but she'd seen the fury in his eyes at their negligence. The fourth-years had closed ranks around George after that and Dorea suspected it would be at least another two weeks before the Gryffindors began to get an inkling as to where their house-mate had vanished to. They'd likely overlook him on the coming Tuesday out of prejudice unless Professor Snape called on him to answer a question.

Wednesday night was when Dorea only pretended to go to bed at curfew and instead donned her invisibility cloak and trekked up to the seventh floor, where she camped out in a classroom not far from the portrait of the portly lady in pink and read several chapters of _General Winter_ waiting for everyone to go to bed. Wednesday was when the first-year Gryffindors had Astronomy, so they'd be traipsing back and forth at eleven forty-five and one-thirty respectively to fall into bed and sleep like the dead, enabling Dorea to not need to wait long for them to be asleep. She'd be a wreck tomorrow but it would be worth it to narrow her suspect pool down to one. After hearing the eleven-year-olds clamber down into the corridor and patter off down the hall Dorea removed her tie, clutched her book so it covered the crest on her robes and hid the invisibility cloak in her shoulder bag, then left the classroom and approached the portrait. Being as tall as she was meant she could pass for being two or even three years older in the flickering half-light of the torches.

The password was still 'Bat-Bogey' so Dorea got in without a problem, settling herself behind one of the couches nearest the fire and pulling the cloak over her to prevent herself from being discovered by an over-zealous prefect. She then went back to reading by the light of the fire, occasionally twirling her holly wand to the movements described in her book.

It barely seemed to take any time at all for the firsties to return; Dorea suspicions were confirmed when her forehead stung as they passed her on their way up to their dormitories. She got to her feet as they trailed past, following on the heels of Eloise Midgen at the end of the line of girls and easily settling herself on the windowsill of their dormitory, still comfortably invisible, and waited for them to settle down. It felt like ages, but that was probably tension and the itching of her Ward making the minutes drag. Once all the breathing had deepened and evened out Dorea hopped back down to ground level and began her circuit of the room.

She really shouldn't have been surprised to find that Ginny Weasley was the guilty party; when had life ever made things easy for her? The source of the problem was the diary tucked under her pillow and much as Dorea would have liked to call up her Ward and incinerate it then and there she didn't. She didn't know what would happen if she tried that and it might even kill the poor girl. She couldn't do that to George, not now. So she retreated back down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor Tower, down to her own dormitory and her bed. Tomorrow she'd have a letter to write.

* * *

><p>The letter Dorea got back from her aunt and uncle told her to sit tight until the lists for signing up to stay in school at Christmas came out, then to infiltrate Gryffindor Tower again and make sure Miss Weasley was <em>not<em> on the list. Following that Dorea was to be patient until the last day of the winter term, abduct Ginny on the way to the train and bring her home in one of her trunk's compartments, preferably either stunned or drugged. Dorea resolved to recruit the assistance of Rence, George, Dee and Zee a bit closer the time then firmly set the matter aside since obsessing wouldn't make the time go faster.

So it was that, in the first week of December, Dorea decided to go looking for the Thestrals that had pulled the carriages at the beginning of term to get her mind off things she couldn't do anything about just yet. By this point the 'missing twin' issue had been mostly forgotten, being old news, despite the forth-year lions having finally noticed that their missing house-mate was going by 'Jerry Prewett' and was hiding behind the snakes. There would have been more tension over that if it hadn't been for Rosier noticing that the Gryffindors didn't know which twin they were seeing either and ruthlessly turning this fact to her house's advantage. Thus far the lions were all too ashamed of their inability to tell one twin from the other to pry into why one of their number had taken up with their greatest rivals.

Dorea told her friends of her intention to find the Thestrals over breakfast on the Saturday, prompting Trey and Zee to bow out and Theo Nott to invite himself along. Dee had been sticking close since coming out of her shell again but Blaise wanted to get some extra practice in before his combat lesson right before lunch, so at half-past nine Dorea, Theo and Daphne were heading out towards Hagrid's hut, wrapped up in their warmest clothing and with a brown paper package of raw steak begged from the kitchens tucked under Theo's arm. Theo was unusually voluble on the subject of Thestrals; Dorea learned he'd been able to see them since his Uncle died last Christmas and that he rather liked how they looked. His exact words were, 'like power and sorrow made flesh,' which was incredibly poetic and hinted at him having depths he'd taken pains to hide from everyone. Probably one of the reasons he wasn't the most outgoing or forthcoming of her year-mates.

Hagrid was someone Dora had heard about but hadn't really interacted with yet, but despite being obviously wary of Slytherins he soon warmed up to the subject matter. It turned out he'd been the one to domesticate the Thestrals and he knew a great deal about them, including where they could find the herd at the moment. However he was currently busy trying to discover what was killing his chickens, so he couldn't accompany them. Dorea suspected the chicken-killer to be a possessed Ginny Weasley, but did not say so; instead she led the way into the Forbidden Forest behind Hagrid's hut, unwrapping the bloody steaks as she did so.

Less than ten minutes later there were five skeletal black winged horses surrounding them, eagerly tearing off pieces of the steaks and nibbling at Theo's slightly bloodstained sleeves. Dee seemed fascinated, cautiously stroking sleek, scaled skin she could not see as Dorea and Theo examined the Creatures as closely as they dared, Dorea with pencil and paper out so she could sketch them. They really were stunningly beautiful in a slightly macabre way, Dorea mused; she really should paint one as her end-of-year Art project this year. A Thestral in a wintry landscape under skeletal trees would look as stunning in paint as it did in real life.

However they eventually ran out of steak and the Thestrals lost interest in being petted, wandering off into the depths of the forest. Dee then noticed that they'd been out for nearly two hours and really needed to get back to the castle, so Dorea set about retracing their steps through the frosty underbrush. They were still a good way from the edge of the trees when Dorea heard a rustling and a clicking from above them and off to one side. Pausing, she palmed her elm wand –just in case she needed to cast something really nasty– caught her friends' eyes and glanced upwards.

Giant spiders. Four of them, the smallest about the size of a pig and the largest as tall as a horse. Dorea had only ever read about Acromantula –they were native to Borneo– but she could tell that was what they were. She had no idea what they were doing in central Scotland and did not care so long as they left her and her friends alone. Gripping Dee's sleeve in one hand she hurried onwards, taking care not to lose the path in her haste. Theo stuck close to her left side, his wand held in a white-knuckled grip and his face pale. Dee looked much the same, but there was a languidness to her movements that indicated she was thinking very hard and preparing herself for a fight. The spiders followed them, two more dog-sized spiders joining their little group as they scuttled through the branches. Dorea cleared her throat.

"Come any closer and I'll curse you," she said threateningly, calling up the mindset Grandfather has described as useful when wordlessly casting violent magic. The Blasting Curse was not something she'd had a lot of practice with but she was pretty sure she could vaporise at least one spider with it.

"Little wizards…" the largest spider hissed, its pincers clicking angrily, but it did not advance further as the second-years fled the area as quickly as they could without sacrificing security for speed. When they could at last see the tree line they finally broke into a run, putting a good distance between themselves and the forest before coming to a halt.

"Why the _hell_ are there Acromantula within a mile of Hogwarts?" Theo demanded, his voice rather high.

"How do you kill Acromantula?" Dee asked steadily, her face white and her hands trembling as she straightened her scarf.

"I was going to use the Blasting Curse," Dorea admitted, "but the Knockback Jinx would probably have worked to delay them."

"You know the Blasting Curse?" Theo asked. "Sorry, stupid question; teach me?"

"If you would, Rhea," Dee agreed. "I suddenly feel much less safe."

"Okay; how about tomorrow afternoon? I'll ask the house-elves for some fruit for us to practice on," Dorea offered. She could understand their point of view: giant, man-eating spiders living side-by-side with a school? She was _so_ going to write home about this! Acromantula were one of the reasons that the ban on experimental breeding had been created in the first place and why the penalties were so severe: the species was obviously wizard-bred, being capable of speech and easily trained while young despite their fondness for eating people once fully grown. That they were doing perfectly well in Scotland said they'd been designed much better than had previously been documented, since they'd only ever been sighted in South-East Asia and tropical parts of Africa before now. Dorea was grudgingly impressed, if no less utterly horrified.

"Thank-you Rhea," Theo said sincerely. "I don't mind owing you over this; I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"I'll try and come up with something before Christmas," Dorea told him. Letting debts sit around and fester was just plain rude.


	27. Chapter 27

Beta'd by the stupendous Insane Scriptist.

As I mentioned last week, there will be no more Sunday updates. Hence this chapter not being published yesterday.

* * *

><p><strong>Of tension and identity <strong>

The sign-up sheet for staying at Hogwarts over Christmas appeared in the Slytherin Common Room on the tenth of December, prompting Dorea to go on another late-night foray into Gryffindor territory to erase Ginny Weasley's name from said list before McGonagall took it away again. For some reason the lions didn't change their passwords more than one or twice a term, so her knowledge was still valid. Arthur and Molly Weasley were in Egypt visiting their eldest son, which Dorea would have been more disgusted about had they actually _known_ one of their sons was lying Petrified in the Hospital Wing. Somehow it seemed that news had failed to get through; how shocking. Sadly Dorea was not as surprised by this as she might have been: had Mrs Weasley known of her son's plight there would have been Howlers galore aimed at the Headmaster and all of her other children would have been removed from Hogwarts at once. For all she was loud, ill-mannered and controlling, Molly Weasley loved her children dearly. Dorea hadn't sent a letter herself because she needed Ginny where she could see her, so as to make the abduction and exorcism easier. She already had a plan: her cousin Trish was even now preparing to brew the Draught of Living Death and Aunt Lucretia had ordered Wiggenweld Potion from a discreet brewer.

However the abduction could not take place for another two weeks, so Dorea had to settle for securing her friends' assistance and promising to tell George exactly what was going on when they were about to get on the train. Telling him sooner would send him haring off after his sister, as he _was_ a lion for all he was acting like a snake right now.

The sign-up sheet for an all-years Duelling Club in the Entrance Hall the following week looked pretty interesting, for all that it was suspiciously silent on who would be teaching. Draco had already signed up, as had just about everybody else in Slytherin –with Lockhart being incompetent any spell practice was a good idea– so Dorea added her name to the list. George hadn't and neither had Rence or Ric Avery, leading Dorea to suspect that the two Slytherin boys had something else in mind already to distract the depressed lion in their midst. Rence was no swordsman but he was positively lethal with a kite shield in one hand and his cypress wand in the other.

Wizarding armed combat different from Muggle combat in that a witch or wizard _always_ held their wand in their dominant hand and their weapon in the other, leading it to look to the uninformed like most wizards were left-handed. This was incidentally where a lot of Muggle prejudice against lefties came from; a wizard wielding wand and blade could do a lot of damage in unexpected ways. Dorea was actually left-handed so she held her sword in her right hand, though she could wield it with her left in a pinch. Getting used to using her off-hand was why it had taken her so long to get past the basics but she was now improving very quickly. Blaise was improving much faster than she with a blade, being practically ambidextrous already and having a few years practice under his belt from before starting Hogwarts. He still grumbled about early mornings and exercise though.

Swords and shields were not the only weapons taught under the supervision of the Bloody Baron: axes, maces, knives and whips were also popular, with knives being the most popular as they were easily concealed inside clothing. Knife-fighting lessons were actually held on an unofficial basis in the girls dormitories, with the older girls teaching those of their younger house-mates they actually liked and approved of. Dorea and Dee were getting the basics from Deborah, who was better at it than Dawn despite coming across as a bit distracted most of the time. That Deborah regularly carried around a misericorde and none of the teachers had noticed yet was actually rather scary: it was a twelve-inch blade designed for skewering people, for Merlin's sake! How could people not notice it was hiding up her sleeve? A Notice-Me-Not didn't let you do that!

* * *

><p>When eight o'clock came around and Dorea wandered into the Great Hall with her friends she was initially pleased to see Professor Snape standing off to one side; her Head of House was an excellent duellist. Then Lockhart flounced into view and she groaned. Loudly.<p>

"I should have guessed; why did I agree to this?" she complained, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. Zee patted her shoulder reassuringly while Dee placed a gently hand on her arm; on Dee's other side Trey looked slightly flustered.

"Let's go stand nearer Professor Snape," Daphne said calmly, "at least then we might learn something."

Dorea agreed with such an eminently sensible idea and steered them through the crowd as Lockhart made a fool of himself on stage until starting a formal duel with the Potions Master.

"He's not got the brains of a rabbit," Zee said, mildly awed as he watched the idiot rile up their Head of House. "How is he still alive?"

As Snape had just blasted Lockhart across the room with the Disarming Charm, Dorea really had to ask herself that too. Though since this led to an opportunity to duel amongst themselves she didn't really mind, even though she found herself facing off against Hermione while off to one side Ron Weasley was paired with Draco.

Looking into her sort-of-protégée's hazel eyes, Dorea smirked. "I won't be holding back, 'Mione," she said sweetly, "so do keep your head."

Hermione's answering smile was a fierce bearing of teeth that made the Black Heiress so proud of the other girl's progress. She ignored Lockhart telling them to disarm and disarm only; Professor Snape was close enough to counter any unfortunate mishaps and Hermione had only duelled a few times before now, so she needed the practice.

Dorea dodged the Disarming Charm, dancing forward to cast the Tickling Hex then back again as Hermione cast the Knockback Jinx, ducking under the blast and casting the Full Body Bind. Laughing too hard to dodge, Hermione went as stiff as a board and toppled over. Then Professor Snape cancelled everyone's spells and Dorea actually bothered to look around rather than just keep her awareness open in case of badly-aimed spells.

The Great Hall was a mess: students collapsed on the floor, smoke and dust hanging in the air, a few older teens busily reversing hexes and curses off to one side and Professor Snape keeping what looked like most of the school in line with sheer force of personality. Dorea was moderately awed: she wanted to be that authoritative when she grew up!

Lockhart then decided that Shielding Spells were the order of the day and Snape volunteered Weasley and Draco to the stage. Dorea was pretty sure this was all going to go horribly wrong: Professor Snape despised the youngest male Weasley because he was a lazy, loud-mouthed slob who never paid enough attention in class. Draco on the other hand was cheerfully and enthusiastically continuing his father Lucius's feud against Arthur Weasley, though her cousin was at least smart enough not to pick a fight with the twins or Ginny.

Dorea moved around as everyone gathered closer to the stage, standing with the Hufflepuffs and greeting Hannah, Justin, Ernie and Susan as Snape whispered something in Draco's ear and Lockhart dropped his wand while attempting to show Ron Weasley a spell. Then Lockhart stepped out of the way and called out,

"One–two–three–go!"

"Serpensosia!" Draco bellowed. Dorea stiffened as a huge black snake, a mamba, exploded from the end of his wand and landed heavily less than eight feet from Ron, raising its head to strike. There were screams as the people nearest the stage retreated, leaving Dorea on the new front line with the rest of her group.

"Don't move Weasley," Professor Snape said lazily, clearly enjoying the way Ron had gone grey with terror, "I'll get rid of it–"

"Allow me!" Lockhart said grandly, pointing his wand at the mamba. Dorea had a sudden feeling of profound foreboding.

"Retreat!" she hissed, shoving Susan and Dee behind her as there was a loud bang and the snake flew up high into the air, landing with a hard smack on the stone floor barely two feet from Dorea's feet. Clearly enraged and hissing furiously it slithered towards Justin Finch-Fletchley, mouth open and fangs dripping.

Dorea ignored the panic all around her and started to hum. According to _Children of the Naga,_ music was a very good medium for Parselmagic, far better than a mere wand. Dance and movement was even better, but music while less precise had a more potent effect. Gershwin's _Rhapsody in Blue_ was perhaps not the most suitable tune for soothing furious reptiles but it had been what came to mind.

The mamba paused, turning away from the terrified badger to gaze at her. Dorea hummed on, swaying as she let the tune carry her off but taking care to keep in mind that there were no threats here and that Dorea would protect the snake if it let her. There was a brief, barely-audible disgruntled hiss and the mamba lowered its head and slithered over to her ankle, winding itself up swiftly her leg and around her waist under her robes. Dorea kept up the humming and ignored the way Justin and the other badgers were staring at her in undisguised awe, Draco's sudden nervousness and Professor Snape's intensely calculating expression; she had an eight-foot snake wrapped around her middle and it hadn't yet made up its mind to like her. Mambas were feared as one of Africa's most dangerous and venomous snakes; Dorea had no idea where Draco had conjured this one up from but it was most definitely a _real_ snake and not just a magical construct. Not conjured, she corrected herself, since those weren't properly real and eventually faded, but summoned in an instantaneous fashion that bypassed the school Wards.

"_I will stay with you, little mistress,_" came a muffled hiss from under her robes, "_so long as you make sure there are plenty of rats to eat._"

Dorea hummed a little improvised riff, thinking clearly that she agreed to those terms, then stopped. The Hall was now dead silent.

"Draco," she said clearly, "if you ever use that spell again I will tell your father what _really_ happened that time with the Knarls when we were six."

Draco went white and swallowed hard. Dorea smiled, sweet as cyanide.

"However I really must thank you for my gorgeous new pet; I've always wanted a black mamba but Father said they were far too dangerous."

Professor Snape's lips twitched as Lockhart fainted dead away and Ron Weasley whimpered, the boy's skin going an unhealthy shade of grey under his freckles.

* * *

><p>Fizz was not at all happy to have his territory encroached on by a snooty female mamba, for all that said mamba made it quite clear she would have been much happier not belonging to Dorea at all. Dorea had decided to call her Bise, meaning 'kiss', and spent a full hour after breakfast the next morning trying to persuade Professor Sprout to let Bise hunt rats in the greenhouses. Possibly due to Dorea having recently rescued one of her badgers from almost certain death, Sprout eventually agreed on the condition that a Tracking Charm and a Proximity Charm be placed on the mamba and that she keep her distance from the students. Bise agreed to it all with ill-grace, vanishing into the warm depths of Greenhouse Four without a backward glance as soon as the spells had been cast.<p>

Shaking her head, Professor Sprout hurried off to prepare for her lesson. Dorea in turn headed off to her own class, flinching slightly as the blizzard that had blown up during the night rattled the windows and forced icy breezes through the cracks. She was late for History but didn't really care, as it wasn't like Binns would notice and after Christmas she would hopefully never have to sit through another lesson of being droned at by a ghost.

In fact, why not skip the lesson entirely? Buoyed up by this cheerfully rebellious thought, Dorea turned on her heel and set off back they way she'd come, past the Advanced Arithmancy classroom and towards the Transfiguration classroom she'd passed on her way up from the Greenhouses.

"_So hungry… for so long…_"

Dorea reacted to the deep, resonant hisses before they really registered, throwing herself sideways past a suit of armour and into the hidden alcove behind it, eyes tightly shut.

"_Be patient, soon you will be able to feed,_" came a voice that most certainly did not belong to Ginny Weasley. Dorea flicked her elm wand to cast an Obscuring Spell, one that would hide her body heat, which snakes could see and quite a few Revealing Charms relied upon. The fluid sound of scales on stone echoed around her, taking up the entire corridor as the murmuring of the portraits was silenced and the sound from the classrooms seemed muted. The slithering sound seemed to go on forever, a ceaseless counterpoint to the pounding of her heart.

Dorea faintly heard vaguely familiar voices abruptly cut off away in the direction the snake was headed and desperately prayed that nobody had died. Not now, when she was nearly at the point of getting Ginny to professional, competent help and she had managed to keep her House from being demonised over the mess!

Cautiously emerging from her hidey-hole, Dorea stared down the first-floor corridor at the back end of a massive green-scaled body filling the entire hall. Fishing her Invisibility Cloak out of her bag, she threw it over herself and followed, Silencing her feet as an additional precaution.

Half-way down the corridor she nearly tripped over the Petrified body of Justin Finch-Fletchley –it seemed he was doomed to snake-related injury despite her rescue yesterday– and Sir Nicholas who was looking very odd indeed. She ignored them however: she needed to know where the entrance to the Chamber was and this was her best bet. Carefully edging around a corner she paused and stared, caught between realisation and irritation.

It would be in _that_ bathroom, wouldn't it?

* * *

><p>Carefully approaching Moaning Myrtle and asking about how she died proved a most successful strategy, though Dorea really had to wonder why nobody else had ever tried that before. She was right <em>there<em>, for goodness sake! Admittedly Myrtle was a miserable teenage embodiment of everything that was wrong with the house of ravens, but still!

Having located the Chamber of Secrets and determined how to go about entering it, Dorea set about preparing for her planned abduction of the littlest Weasley. Having prepped her accomplices, got her trunk moved up to the second floor and finally informed George of _who_ exactly was responsible for the Petrifications, Dorea studied the map the irate older Weasley had handed over to her so as to locate her prey. She intended to tell Ginny that George wanted to talk to her –which was true enough– then lead her down to where Zee, Dee, Theo, Rence and George were waiting with the trunk.

Ginny Weasley did not look very well at all. The wan pallor and slight twitchiness were the most visible signs of her condition, but she had also lost weight over the past few months. Possession, particularly unwilling possession, was not at all healthy for the host.

"Weasley?" Dorea said quietly, so as not to catch the attention of her target's house-mates who were chatting mere feet away. "George wants a word."

Ginny's eyes widened and brightened in evident relief; she instantly turned and followed Dorea along a crossing passage and down a staircase, hopping easily over the trick step.

"Is he alright?" the young redhead asked breathlessly. "Where has he been?"

"He's been pretty out of it since Fred got Petrified," Dorea said gently, noticing the younger girl's nervous flinch at the word 'Petrified', "so I've been keeping him hidden and making sure he eats. He's very subdued and I think being around his friends wouldn't help much, as he'd keep looking for Fred when he isn't there."

Ginny sagged, but kept up as Dorea led her along the Eastern Corridor on the second floor, which was entirely empty due to there being no lessons today since just about everyone was going home for Christmas. Draco wasn't, but that was because his parents were having a private Christmas in Greece.

"In there," Dorea said, indicating the partly-open door to the deserted classroom she'd chosen for the ambush, most of her attention on Ginny's schoolbag with the Diary inside it. Her forehead had been stinging all the way down the stairs and while she hoped that distance would enable them to restrain Ginny without Riddle emerging, she wasn't optimistic.

Ginny pushed the door open, saw George –his hair temporarily Charmed ginger again– and beamed happily just as Rence, Zee and Dee all fired spells at her. The petite redhead collapsed, her bag flying across the room and spilling its contents all over the floor. Theo hurried over with the vial of Draught of Living Death, eyes wide and rather awed as he joined Dorea in kneeling over the younger girl and pouring the potion down her throat. George and Rence then wrapped the eleven-year-old in a borrowed quilt, tucking her into the empty trunk compartment and closing the lid. Dorea then cautiously approached the spilled texts and stationary piled in the corner of the room, Dee beside her wearing Dragonhide gloves and the boys standing well back, wands at the ready.

The slim black Muggle diary seemed so very innocuous, but its proximity brought her Ward up to dance lightly across her skin. Dorea didn't touch it, instead pulling out of her own bag the heavily-warded case her aunt had sent her and held it open.

"Now Dee," she said hoarsely.

Dee scooped up the diary in gloved hands and quickly dropped it into the box, sighing in relief as Dorea snapped the lid closed and the Runes on it flared. Everyone sighed in relief, Dorea carefully replacing the box in her bag.

"Right; Rence, Jerry, you two carry the trunk down to the station while Zee, Dee and I get the rest of the bags from behind the statue of Caractacus the Snooty," Dorea said, feeling slightly dizzy as she came down from the adrenaline high. "Remember that Bise is sleeping in the other compartment and that she's the reason I'm even taking my trunk home mid-year in the first place."

The black mamba proved to be the perfect excuse, as this way Bise could be safely transported away from the school to roam free around the grounds of Black Manor without running the risk of biting anyone. There was no way anybody would try and keep her from doing so, no matter how suspicious Professor Snape for one most certainly was of her recent doings.

They boarded the train without a hitch and Dorea immediately sprawled out on a seat between George and Zee, her nose in _Creature Wars_ as she prepared for her OWLs. She would be sitting them the day after tomorrow so she fully intended to be ready for them, kidnapped Weasley in her trunk or not. Appearances had to be kept up, especially when engaged in less-than-legal activities for a good cause: you shouldn't let the dubious nature of your actions detract from your goal. Her Papa had explained all this to her when she was younger, though he had couched it in terms of pranks and how to achieve them.


	28. Chapter 28

Beta'd by the thought-provoking InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of rage and despondency <strong>

After sitting her History and Astronomy OWLs –the latter in the late evening– and two days' rest, Dorea was finally told what her father and aunts had in mind for the Horcrux that had sunk its hooks into Ginevra Weasley. Needless to say, she didn't like it.

"But Great-Aunt Cassiopeia! It will kill you!"

Her great-aunt smiled fondly at her, skin wrinkling as hands that had not shaken before the past summer stroked her hair.

"Darling girl, you've been like a daughter to me all these years but I'm getting old. Even if I don't do this I won't last the year and I'd prefer to have some say in how I go rather than pass in my sleep while you're away at school. I have put my affairs in order so I can free you from this abomination and meet my father in the afterlife with my head held high." The elderly lady sighed, tapping Dorea on the nose. "I love you, silly goose, and I'll spare you the horror of dealing with such things for as long as I am able."

"But you'll be _dead_!"

Great-Aunt Cassiopeia hugged her. "But you will have a single Horcrux left to find and destroy, and this one is the first he made. Only from the first can the maker rebuild himself; the others are merely anchors. You said there was a basilisk in Hogwarts, did you not? Their venom will destroy a Horcrux, though it also destroys the object used as a Soul Jar. Weep not for me, my dear, for I'll be going to join my own dear sister, your namesake, and my reprehensible Jean-Pierre who will doubtless be waiting for me. I will also be able to hold my head high among our forebears, knowing I raised the next Lady Black to bring new glory to the Family."

Dorea wept into her Great-Aunt's shoulder, clinging tightly as she shook. Death was part of life; she _knew_ this. But that didn't make losing people any less painful, even when both you and they knew it was time to go.

"Hush now darling; I'm rather looking forward to tell your mother about all the things you got up to as a child and finding out which exactly of your less admirable traits came from that scapegrace Potter your father claims as a sibling," Great-Aunt Cassiopeia said matter-of-factly, making Dorea hiccup in shock. "He is after all my nephew and I have a feeling my baby sister spoiled him horribly."

Dorea giggled damply, her heart aching. "Don't leave me?" she begged hopelessly.

Great-Aunt Cassiopeia smiled. "That, Dorry dearest, is a foolish question," the only mother the twelve-year-old really remembered reprimanded gently. "I cannot help but leave; I am mortal after all. But some day in the distant future, when you have had children and spoiled your grandchildren rotten, your day will come and I will see you then."

"Au revoir then," Dorea mumbled reluctantly, slowly unclenching her fingers from Great-Aunt Cassiopeia's robes.

"That's my good girl," the elderly lady said proudly. "Now go and do your part to ensure that the craven Riddle cannot walk in my cousin Cedrella's granddaughter's skin."

Dorea gave her Great-Aunt one last hug and went to sit in the secondary circle adjacent to the one that held the innocuous-looking diary. Ginny was lying unconscious in that second circle and Dorea's job was to use her Ward to purge all trace of the soul fragment from her person. Aunt Lucretia had explained a lot about Soul Fire to her yesterday, but it boiled down to there being several different types and her Ward being made of the kind that strengthened and healed. Riddle's soul fragment, being incomplete, could not bear to touch it because it made him feel the agony of his injuries, but to a whole, healthy soul her Ward would speed recovery. So Dorea knelt over the body of the girl who had all unknowingly put her own brother in the Hogwarts hospital wing and reached for the power that wrapped around her own like a soap bubble, delicate but distinct.

Golden fire wreathed her hands and she urged the power onward, into the girl who lay as though dead on the cold stone floor. She _wanted_ Ginny to be purged, to be healed, to be whole. Ginny was loved, was precious to her family and Dorea didn't want them to suffer the loss of their youngest child.

The flames sunk into Ginny's body, driving out fine, shrieking wisps of shadow that retreated back to the diary. Dorea did not stop until Ginny's skin glowed like a star, proving that not a trace of the darkness remained within her. Then she took her hands away, grabbing the vial of Wiggenweld potion and tipping it through cold, unresponsive lips. The girl's parents –her mother in particular– would certainly have argued otherwise but Dorea knew Ginny would want to see her tormentor die, if only so she could be sure she would never be hurt by it again.

The redhead took in a breath and blinked.

"You opened the Chamber of Secrets, Ginny," Dorea said bluntly, making the younger girl blanch. "Well, it was done by your body, but the mind behind it is in there," she pointed to the diary.

Ginny gasped. "Tom?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, the late Heir of Slytherin," Dorea said grimly, making Ginny cringe. The redhead then noticed the other adults in the room and burst into tears. Dorea sighed.

"George is next door; come on," she dragged the other girl to her feet and out of the circle. That Ginevra Weasley managed to actually _leave_ the circle indicated that Dorea had accomplished what she had intended; the circle had been drawn around her and it hadn't been possible to move her before. Dorea had checked; Aunt Luctretia had insisted, so as to prove that the Ward circle was working as intended.

Ginny was only too happy to leave the stone ritual room and throw herself into her brother's arms, sobbing bitterly, but Dorea felt her heart clench painfully as she closed the door behind her. If this was what being noble felt like then she was only too pleased to be a Slytherin; she'd rather be a coward than hurt like this all the time. If this was what Gryffindors craved they were either masochists or an alien species.

* * *

><p>Blaise sat on a garden wall, bundled up in several layers of jumper, coat and cloak, watching his best friend cuddle a hippogriff and cry into its feathers. The hippogriff was responding to her distress, chirring and grooming her hair in between rubbing its head against her back. Pardon him; the hippogriff was rubbing <em>his<em> head against her back. Blaise had been introduced to Boreas back in the summer and still couldn't quite get his head around how the massive predator doted on his friend. Rhea claimed Boreas was a big old softy, which by hippogriff standards he might well be, but he was still a cart-horse-sized Magical Creature with sharp claws and a vicious beak.

He was out here because it was not yet dawn on Christmas morning and Rhea's house-elf Moppet had apologetically woken him up an hour ago to tell him that 'Mistress Dorea' was up and getting dressed to go outside. A few days ago he'd asked the elf to wake him if Rhea ever got up early so he could keep her company, so he reassured her that he wasn't cross at being woken at five in the morning –well he wasn't, not _really_, considering– and dressed in as many layers as he could throw on before hurrying out after his friend. That Rhea had barely responded to his intrusion, not even rolled her eyes or huffed that she didn't _need_ babysitting, told him that he'd done the right thing.

Even Blaise felt the loss of the formidable Cassiopeia Black, who had teased him over fleeing her tea parties and welcomed him into her Lord's home last summer. He couldn't imagine how Rhea felt after having lost the woman who raised her. Her Lord father Sirius Black was also grieving, but Blaise didn't think he was feeling it as keenly as Rhea was. Rhea had told him quite a bit about her childhood and until Rhea was four, Cassiopeia Black had been her sole parent what with her father being in Azkaban and all. Rhea loved deeply and fiercely for all she didn't let it show very often and she was completely devastated. She hadn't blamed the Weasley-ette for it, not yet, but Blaise knew she had to be thinking it. That Rhea had steered well clear of the young redhead since that awful night told its own story.

Prewett probably had the best idea as to Rhea's state of mind since his twin was still lying Petrified in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, but he had stuck by his sister and told Blaise to be there for Rhea no matter what. The older boy had confided that Rhea being there for him and making sure there was _always_ somebody with him had helped him immensely at school after his twin had been incapacitated. Unfortunately what with the situation being what it was Blaise was the only person capable of dragging themselves out of bed and following Rhea around the place. Her Aunt and Uncle were still recovering from the strain of dealing with the cursed object that had possessed the littlest Weasley, as was her father, and Prewett was busy looking after his sister. Blaise had the feeling that even after there were two Weasley Twins around the place things wouldn't go back to how they'd been before, as quite a few of the upper years had gotten attached to Prewett. It was entirely possible that Dorea's impulsive kindness and incredibly unusual family loyalty in taking care of Jerry would change the lion-snake dynamic forever, which was a scary thought.

Oh well. The house-elves were keeping him in hot chocolate and so far he had managed to hug his friend three times without her hitting him. Rhea was like a sister to him, an annoyingly brilliant and unconditionally loving little sister who needed looking after and who he would cheerfully kill for. Blaise didn't think he'd ever marry –seeing his mother go through husbands like wine made him profoundly wary of the whole wedding and possible romance thing– but he was looking forward to doting on his Rhea's eventual children. They'd be awesome, he just knew it.

Hopefully Rhea would be ready to go back inside again soon, as Blaise wanted to open his presents before the rest of the extended Black horde arrived for Christmas breakfast.

* * *

><p>It really would have been easier if Dorea had been angry, but no. The anger had passed within days, as had the weeping. Now she was just depressed. Unfortunately a depressed Dorea created a truly dismal picture of misery and dampened the whole Christmas spirit. Not that George was going to do anything about that; he knew better. He wasn't exactly feeling like sunshine and roses either, for all that Great-Aunt Lulu had somehow gotten hold of some almost-mature Mandrakes and his twin would be up and about within the month.<p>

However saving his baby sister from a cursed diary had cost Dorea her own Great-Aunt and George felt horribly guilty about it all. So did Ginny, for that matter. Never mind that despite their bearing some of the blame for Cassiopeia Black's death Dorea's father had insisted they stay for Christmas… then claimed it wouldn't be responsible of him to send the two Weasleys to the Burrow when their parents weren't there and that packing them off back to Hogwarts would be both callous and attract unwanted attention to Ginny's plight.

Blaise was treating Dorea not unlike George was his own baby sister, never leaving her alone unless she was in the bathroom and even then threatening to invade if she stayed in there more than twenty minutes, making sure she ate and hugging her whenever possible, though in Rhea's case Blaise had to deal with Fizz the boomslang who also wanted to snuggle. George did like the snake –it definitely had a sense of humour– but he wouldn't want to get bitten because he'd accidentally squished it while cuddling someone. Part of the reason Dorea had lent him Fizz at school was that with her snake hanging around his neck the people willing to get within a metre of him could be counted on one hand. That they included Snape was… disturbing. You think you know a man and then he goes and surprises you. George would never have guessed that the dour Dungeon Bat had a soft spot for Dorea, but he really did. He'd even agreed to shelter a lion among his snakes because Dorea had been the one asking. Higgs had confirmed that Dorea was totally Potion Master's Pet but no Slytherin had ever breathed a word about it because their Head of House or not, Snape was still scary and Dorea was terrifyingly brilliant at Potions in her own right and just a teensy bit touchy about her skills. Slandering her competence was a good way to get her to make you wish you were dead.

Seeing the extended Black clan, of whom only three were purebloods and one of those three was a squib, George had to admit that even with the subdued atmosphere he had a good feeling about the future. Admittedly a good half of Dorea's cousins didn't bear the Black name but Richard Oatley and Desmond Woodmore still considered themselves to be Blacks and would have changed their names if they hadn't seen it as disrespectful to their fathers. With the infamous Sirius Black as Family Head the Blacks were going to take the magical world by storm and in fact already were: Dora Tonks was here too and her news on Lockhart had been met with shock, disbelief and outrage. George had known he was a useless git but to think he'd stolen other people's achievements to make himself famous made his blood boil. As soon as Boxing Day had come and gone Lord Black was going to send a copy of the information to Rita Skeeter, then deliver the rest to Madam Bones in person. With a bit of luck the blond fraud would be in jail come the start of term and that would be that.

* * *

><p>To Dorea the days and weeks following her Great-Aunt's death on Winter Solstice passed in a fog of pain and indifference. She got up in the mornings, did what was required of her and kept herself occupied when she didn't have anywhere particular to be, but it didn't really matter to her like it had before. She was just going through the motions. Lockhart's arrest and dramatic fall from grace did not move her and neither did Fred's recovery. Her OWL results –two Os– meant nothing, despite them being accompanied by a Gringotts letter telling her she now had full access to her late Uncle Cygnus' Vault and any heirlooms from the Potter Vaults. Audric Avery visiting and dragging her out to the bank to pick out a sword brought a brief moment of respite, but the novelty of wielding a live blade soon faded away into the dull ache of everyday.<p>

After school started up again after Christmas Dee and Zee stuck closer than ever, Trey drifting back to them now that her illusions of Lockhart had been utterly shattered. Rence stuck around too, breaking into her dull, cold world a few times a week to drag her into the Potions lab and pick up her experimenting with Hermione and Padma again. Sometimes however Dorea just wanted to get away and that was when she escaped down the parsel-passages and into the Chamber of Secrets to talk to the Basilisk. Basileia, Fizz had called her. She was magnificent to look at but Slytherin hadn't bred her for her brains. She was probably about as smart as Crabbe, which ironically meant she was smarter than Goyle. Dorea liked sitting on her and talking, as the Queen of Snakes had a charmingly simple outlook on life and was rather soothing to be around. Leaving Baz to starve in the bowels of Hogwarts would have been cruel, so Dorea had found and opened the old passages leading to the Forest so the immense serpent could get out and eat. She'd told the Basilisk that she had to leave the Centaurs, Unicorns and Thestrals alone but could eat as many Acromantula as she wanted. It turned out that Baz considered Acromantula to be a delightfully tasty snack and very appealing, so she was perfectly happy to deplete the colony lurking near the school down to nothing, with her "_little mistress' permission_," of course. There had been no official action against the completely illegal Acromantula colony and there was no way Dumbledore didn't know about it, but the manipulative Headmaster's neglect was a form of complicity and encouragement.

Having gotten her OWLs, Dorea refused to go on attending either Astronomy or History lessons since her 'O's in both subjects proved she already knew the material and she wasn't interested in progressing to NEWT level.. Instead she slept through the night or haunted her favourite music room, pouring out her grief into music. Before Christmas her teacher had taught her a Charm that enabled a quill to transcribe her music as she played it and over the weeks and months she piled up stacks of tunes and improvisation, none of which she ever looked at. Professor Runcorn was delighted by her efforts, though he notably did not comment on her listlessness. It might have been out of respect for her loss, but the man had been a Ravenclaw and didn't have much tact so maybe her misery wasn't adversely affecting her performance.

Her Occlumency was certainly better than it had ever been and she was performing admirably in all her wand subjects despite not really caring much. She knew the spells in Charms and Defence, Transfiguration was tedious if occasionally challenging and Potions she simply worked through methodically. Maybe by third-year she'd be able to bring herself to care but right now nothing really mattered.

The only time she really emerged from her funk was combat lessons, but that was because Ric pushed her brutally hard and demanded she really give her all now she was using live steel. Since she had two fewer subjects on her timetable he'd added in extra sword lessons to 'keep her from getting into trouble' and now ran her into the ground three nights a week in addition to Saturday afternoons. Dorea lived for those lessons: with wand and blade in her hands she could live in the moment and her duelling skills grew by leaps and bounds.

It wasn't until May that Dorea started to feel human again, the aching pain in her chest where Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had been torn from her numbing and starting to heal. Nobody in the world had ever been as close to her as Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, not even her father, so Dorea knew she'd never hurt like this again. It was a cold comfort.


	29. Chapter 29

Beta'd by the splendid InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of peace and transience <strong>

The thirteenth year of Dorea's life was blessedly, beautifully crisis-free, unless you considered her brief panic over what to wear on her first ever date to be a crisis. The summer before her thirteenth birthday had been spent visiting all her Potter properties, since it was about time she got to know them what with being the heir and all, and she had spent a lot of time with Remus going over the books for her businesses and talking about why he was investing in certain things and supporting some ventures over others. It was most interesting and useful despite involving quite a lot of maths.

Ten days before her birthday Abraxas Malfoy died of Dragon Pox, which led to Aunt Cissa and Draco not attending her party. Dorea couldn't really bring herself to mind their absence despite being a little saddened by the late Lord Malfoy's death. Abraxas –he had insisted on Dorea calling him by his first name– had been one of Great-Aunt Cassiopeia's more frequent gentleman callers after Papa was released from Azkaban and the elder lady had started receiving guests; he had always treated Dorea like a person rather than a baby. He'd been utterly charming, always smiling and had given her all manner of interesting gifts over the years. She'd always been respectful of him though, because Abraxas had a certain gleam in his eye that said _danger_ no matter how much he seemed to enjoy doting on her. At his Will-reading three days before she turned thirteen she found out he had left her his string of racing Granians and a lot of very beautiful and expensive jewellery, which was all very inappropriate. There wasn't anything anybody could do about it though, since he probably hadn't planned on dying just yet and the gift would have been moderately appropriate if she had been even one year older, for all that the jewellery probably should have gone to Abraxas' daughter-in-law –Auntie Cissa– or be held in trust for Draco's own daughter.

On her actual birthday she discovered there was a present from him, likely picked out and delivered before he got so sick, which she had opened in private since there was no way to write him a thank-you letter. It turned out to be a variety of books on Atlantean Soul Magic –he'd been an adventurer before marrying–a basic Alchemy primer and a jewel box full of uncut gems and small bars of various different metals. Dorea had been delighted at the prospect of a new field of study to investigate and had immediately hidden everything in one of her trunk's secret hidey-holes. She already had plans to build herself a new and better trunk, but she was very attached to Great-Auntie Isla's one and didn't want to trade up just yet.

The beginning of her third year at Hogwarts had gone smoothly enough, with Hermione finally getting herself a pet –a large and unfortunate-looking half-kneazle she had named Crookshanks– and both Daphne's and Ric's little sisters starting their first year. Both were sorted into Slytherin where their elder siblings could keep an eye on them, but what with Ric being in his NEWT year Dorea had been the person Arietta Avery had come to with her problems. Ric was after all seventeen now and an adult, so for all that his baby sister all but worshipped him she didn't go to him with things like needing help with school-work.

Ade Pucey had somehow made prefect alongside Odile Witt, which kept him busy as the new year-group was twice the size as the one above it. It made sense really, as the new students had all been conceived in the year following the end of the Voldemort War when for the first time in over a decade British Wizarding Society had been free from fear and violence. Astoria and Arietta had another seventeen fellow Slytherins in their year, which was rather astounding. Rence found it hilarious that Ade had been selected and needled him at every possible opportunity all through September, by which point the novelty had worn off a bit and he turned his attention back to his studies. Rence and Ade were after all fifth-years now and would be taking their OWLs in the summer. That Dorea had already taken two of hers and done so well had both irritated and reassured Rence's year-group, as it made them seem less difficult. Rosier had asked to borrow her History books to study from and Dorea had happily lent them to her, specifying that they were not to leave Slytherin Dungeon as she didn't want them getting confiscated. That Rosier was not the only student reading them did not surprise her in the slightest; Binns and Bagshot were a poor combination for any genuinely interested student of History.

Dorea had decided to study Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as her electives, since Care of Magical Creatures was only useful if you intended to work in that field and she was familiar enough with Muggle society not to need Muggle Studies. She would probably sit the exam anyway though, just like her cousins had, as it was an easy O. Divination she scorned on principle and refused to even contemplate: she refused to trick her mind into believing that she had no choice. Free will was absolute, so prophecy only bound her if she allowed it.

Arithmancy was like maths but not quite and had various divinatory properties, but Dorea ignored those in favour of how it could be used in rituals, wards, alchemy and spell creation. She was about average in class and enjoyed it. Runes was different: it turned out her self-study had put her ahead on the rest of the class by a good margin so Professor Babbling made her sit the end-of-year test then adjusted her schedule so she could attend the forth-year class. It was at the same time as third-year history, but since Dorea wasn't taking that it wasn't a problem. Hermione seemed a little put-out by that, but it couldn't be helped. Getting pushed up a year meant Dorea was taking Ancient Runes with Gregory and Stephanie, which was fun since she didn't usually see much of either of them. Now she could sit in class with them and study with them in the library.

Rather amusingly, this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was none other than her cousin Richard, who soon had all the female upper years swooning after him and proved a highly competent educator. His lessons were interesting, they actually got to practice spells and the various Dark Creatures he either brought into class or showed them images of livened up the classroom considerably. He even got special permission from the Ministry after Christmas to have a Dementor brought into the school –properly escorted by an Auror of course– which he followed up with a lesson on the Patronus Charm. By the time exams rolled around her cousin had been enshrined in the minds of all his students as Best Defence Teacher Ever, so hearing that he was on a limited one-year-contract and would not be coming back was incredibly disheartening. Richard however confided in Dorea that Uncle Iggy had sponsored his teaching year so he could investigate the 'curse' on the Defence position without attracting suspicion. It turned out there actually _was_ a curse: it was a Living Curse, a very powerful one cast by Tom Riddle that meant that, for as long as he was technically not fully dead, no Defence Professor would last more than one year unless _he_ was the one hired for the job. It struck Dorea as an incredibly petty waste of otherwise rather impressive magic.

Third year was also the year that puberty happened for Dorea; she'd grown two inches over the course of each previous year, meaning that on the first of September she'd been five foot five, but after starting Hogwarts again her body went into overdrive, making her bones ache, her appetite expand to disconcertingly unladylike proportions –not that it stopped her from eating her fill– and, most peculiarly, to the development of _curves_. Bad enough that she had to go for new uniforms at New Year due to being five foot seven _already_, but she also had to buy new supportive underwear and by Easter it was very obvious, even in the unflattering Hogwarts uniform, that she actually had breasts. Thankfully however she wasn't the only one: Millie Bulstrode had come back from the summer holidays with a very generous cleavage, Trey's short stature made her succumbing to puberty blindingly obvious and even Dee needed to have her uniforms adjusted at the front. Hermione was proving to be a late developer, though her temper was certainly a lot shorter than it had been last year.

* * *

><p>It took Dorea until mid-November to find out about the Time-Turner, which prompted her to exercise her right as Patron and give Hermione a gruesomely detailed lecture on why Time-Turners were restricted and what prolonged usage could do to your mind and magic. Hermione had lost her temper at 'being ordered around' at which point Dorea had lost her own composure and demonstrated to her thoroughly cowed audience that she did, in fact, possess the infamous Black Temper. In <em>spades<em>. The confrontation had ended with Hermione bursting into tears and trying to punch Dorea in the face –Rence had leapt into the breach and deflected her– but the Muggleborn had, after calming down, given the item back and stopped attending Muggle Studies and Divination. In an expression of gratitude at her friend's good sense Dorea had helped her enrol into the Ancient Studies class, paying for Hermione's lessons out of the Vault she had received from her late Uncle Cygnus for irony's sake. This had thoroughly dissipated Hermione's resentment and their friendship had proceeded as normal, slightly distant but perfectly amicable. Not that Hermione knew Dorea was paying for her classes, but still.

Third year came with the perk of Hogsmeade visits, which were fun as they were a rare opportunity to get away from the school for a while. Most of the seventh-years didn't actually bother going anymore, either having tired of the limited charms the small village could offer or using the time to sneak out of Hogsmeade to visit family and friends on the sly –if either they or said relatives could apparate– but to Dorea and her friends it was all still new and exciting. The first trip was on Halloween, which Dorea actually enjoyed for once as Tom Riddle conspicuously failed to spoil her day. The second trip was a week before the beginning of the Christmas holidays, enabling everyone to do a bit of Christmas shopping.

Unfortunately it was at this point that the tension that had been simmering between Fred and George Weasley since the previous February finally boiled over, resulting in George hiding in Slytherin again for five days and Fred alternating between betrayed fury and abject misery. Thankfully the previously-older twin got his head out of his arse before the first day of the holidays and by the time Dorea returned at New Year both Fred and George seemed much happier. That Fred had stopped messing around in Potions and George had taken up the flute utterly bamboozled the entire school, with even the teachers wondering what the prank was. Of course the fifth-year Slytherins were all incredibly smug, as _they_ had seen it coming a mile off. They were quite fond of 'Jerry Prewett'.

February brought Valentine's Day and Dorea's first ever date: it seemed Rence had noticed her crush and decided to reciprocate. Rather than take her to Madam Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade –which was so despicably twee it made her want to throw up– he coaxed a picnic out of the house-elves and they sat out by the lake to eat it. Dorea would have been more nervous about sitting right at the edge of the Forbidden Forest if she hadn't known that Baz had depleted the Acromantula colony down to nothing over the past year, finally chowing down on the two Elder spiders and the unhatched eggs only the previous week. The forest was now officially Acromantula-free, much to the basilisk's disappointment. Apparently she considered the giant spiders to be the tastiest snack food in existence, her exact words having been, "_so more-ish and crunchy!_" Admittedly not having eaten a full meal in over a century meant Baz was a _very_ hungry basilisk, so the complete destruction of the colony was in retrospect rather predictable.

Dorea thoroughly enjoyed her introduction to dating and romance: it was like a dream where nothing could touch her. Unfortunately however the shine wore off by the end of the school year, leading them to decide that they were better off staying friends. Dorea was closer to Rence now though and a number of the girls in his year teased him about his devotion to her. It wasn't romantic though; in retrospect it never really had been. Rence just wanted her to cherished and safe, which explained his tendency to distract people who were angry with her for one reason or another.

Part of what killed off Dorea's first crush was the advent of the exam season, as her renewed focus on her studies led her to realise that her affection for Rence had been mostly chemical. They didn't share the same goals or even the same basic moral code, so the relationship would never have worked anyway. Dorea honestly admired the older boy for his dedication to maintaining a certain degree of chivalry in the face of his own ambitions, though Rence still hadn't quite decided what he wanted to do with his life. As a half-blood of modest means Rence would need a job upon graduating, but the only subjects that really brought him any pleasure were combat and art. He did enjoy runes, but only as a means to Enchant things. Dorea had jokingly suggested he go into jewellery or something like that, which had made her friend look very thoughtful and mention that he might just look into it. If he did, Dorea certainly wasn't going to complain. If he was any good she might even sponsor him! While he might not ever be as good as Fairbourne's, he could certainly do no worse than Madam Belinda's utterly tasteless wares!

* * *

><p>Her summer holidays began with the news that Peter Pettigrew had finally died in prison. While not exactly bad news, it did send both her Papa and Remus into pensive moods for a few days, after which they resolutely threw off their gloom in favour of a manor-wide prank war that soon sucked in both Weasley Twins –on opposite sides– Great-Uncle Septimus, Uncle Iggy and Theo, though Dorea still wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to persuade his father to let him stay away from the Nott family home for three weeks. Her response to the mayhem was to enlist Aunt Lucretia's assistance in Warding her rooms against intrusion, invite Hermione over and get stuck into the Alchemy primer Abraxas had left her. Hermione was utterly delighted to get to investigate such a rare subject, especially when it shared half its roots with Muggle chemistry. Unfortunately Hermione lacked the imagination and instincts to truly shine in alchemy, but she still had a really great time learning the basic principles. There had been a few tense moments over the house-elves, but talking to the now very frail Tansy had helped the Muggleborn get her facts straight and she'd thankfully dropped the prospective crusade to free the oppressed before it really got started.<p>

More disturbingly, spending that long in Black Manor meant Hermione had found out about Dorea's swordsmanship lessons and had volunteered that one of the things she did with her father during the summer was go shooting. Not just target shooting, but clay pigeon shooting. The whole idea of firing on moving targets fascinated Avery, who demanded more explanations and persuaded both Deborah and Hermione to help him copy the system for spell practice. Dorea just watched in bemusement as Deborah somehow acquired an _actual_ clay pigeon trap, installed it to one side of the end of the Long Lawn then assisted Hermione in setting up a Rune system to fire it.

Hermione proved a crack shot with the Reductor Curse, making Dorea wonder exactly how well she'd do with a Muggle gun in her hands. It took Ric a while to adapt to the system but he quickly improved once he got into the swing of things. Dorea herself turned out to be startlingly good, though she privately thought it was connected to her uncanny spatial awareness and all those years spent chasing snitches with Omen Owls. They just loved chasing those things, for all that their idea of play was rough enough to damage the tiny fluttering wings beyond repair after a while. Deborah wasn't very good at it at all, but she seemed to consider it a challenge and persisted. Ric then started showing up at the Manor every day to 'help' her, which Dorea found rather cute. She hoped that her former swordsmanship tutor would get his act together and propose soon; he'd graduated now and Deborah was seventeen too, so there was no reason why not. Besides, both her Papa and her Uncle Jimmy Oatley actually _liked_ Ric, so it wasn't like they'd oppose the match. Her cousins had much more freedom of choice in who they would marry than a good many other families; certainly they had far greater freedom than Dorea herself did.

Dorea's respite from the machinations of Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore lasted past her fourteenth birthday right up until the Quidditch World Cup, the aftermath of which made her realise that no matter how good she had it right now, society's problems were still festering under the surface. Then she found out about the impending Triwizard Tournament and decided that there was no _way_ it wasn't a trap. It had been disbanded due to the casualties piling up it the first place! Who for, how and why were immaterial; the fact remained that the opportunities for mischief in the upcoming school year would be pretty much endless. Thus it was pointless to speculate overly much, but it would be a good idea to be prepared. Very prepared.

Oh well, at least she'd finally worked out how to cancel the parseltongue locking spells on the Planetarium so Professor Sinistra could have her lessons at a civilised hour next term. The students would be grateful for not having to keep late hours and brave the top of the Astronomy tower in the icy depths of a Scottish winter.


	30. Chapter 30

Beta'd by the affable InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of authority and respect <strong>

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, gazing thoughtfully at the silvery thoughts swirling gently in the small Pensieve he'd been given by the Germans after defeating Gellert. It was not one of the elegant wide stone basins that a few of the more distinguished Ancient Magical Families owned as heirlooms dating to before the founding of Hogwarts, but it was perfectly serviceable if no larger than a pasta bowl. The Potters owned one such ancient Pensieve, which he had made use of until the goblins had recalled all heirlooms to the Potter Vault shortly after Sirius Black's disaster of a trial. So zealous had the bankers been that Albus had barely been able to recover his thoughts before they were carried off!

The trial was really where things had started to go wrong for Albus. He'd been so _sure_ that the prophecy had referred to Rose Potter –though its wording had initially led him to believe that Neville Longbottom was the only possible candidate– but he'd been unable to find any trace of the girl following her parents' deaths. When at the trial Sirius had somehow managed to insist under Veritaserum that Rose Potter had never existed the public had turned on Albus, with Millicent Bagnold leading the charge in an attempt to recover her popularity and shed some of the blame. Bartemius Crouch had been thrown under the carriage as well, though he had not managed to recover nearly as well as Albus had. The Potter Wills had been unsealed and Albus had hoped that doing so would force those who had spirited the child away to come forward, but neither Will had referenced her at all. Instead, bar a few minor bequests, the Potters had left everything to the wrongly-imprisoned Sirius Black, to be held in trust for one of James' distant cousins until she came of age. Said cousin was also a Black, so Sirius being Regent made sense as he had been James' best friend and had also been reinstated as heir to Lord Arcturus Black.

Though in retrospect it was clear that Lord Black had never disowned Sirius at all, judging by the elder Black's campaign for a public trial almost from the very week of his grandson's imprisonment. It had become clear that Sirius' so-called 'disownment' had been more his mother not wanting anything to do with him after he was fifteen rather than an official barring from the family, with the teenager running into Charlus and Dorea Potter's open arms rather than seeking out closer potentially sympathetic relatives. All the elder Blacks had also emerged from their seclusion to make his life difficult, Cassiopeia Black in particular. The ferocious and opinionated witch had been one of the darlings of the Grindelwald War, particularly beloved of the French Magical Resistance for her tireless support of their cause and willingness to utterly destroy all who stood in her way. While the Germans had thanked Albus for his part in Gellert's defeat the French had spurned him in favour of the few surviving witches and wizards who had waged guerrilla warfare upon his army from the very moment it had invaded their borders. Most of the survivors were unashamedly Dark, much as Madam Black was, and had openly scorned Albus for cowering in a school until the very last weeks of the war. All that scorn and distrust had been stirred up again after the trial and Albus had been forced to use up a great many of his accumulated political favours to remain Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.

Albus had then dedicated the next six years to studying the prophecy and seeking the still missing Rose Potter, as he did not believe the tale spun across the public eye by the Blacks. He did not believe Sirius to have betrayed them –Peter Pettigrew's discovery and willing confession made it clear he had not– but Albus did believe that the Black Heir had hidden his best friend and blood-brother's daughter away, probably abroad. The Potters had property and connections in New Zealand, central Africa and Canada, so those were the places Albus looked whenever Hogwarts was not in session. He had found nothing.

Then, in the year that Rose Potter –whom he had almost given up on as she was not listed in the Hogwarts Book– should have entered her first year, Albus set eyes upon Dorea Black. Named for James' mother with curly black hair and eyes as green as Lily Potter's had ever been, the self-possessed eleven-year-old was sorted into Slytherin. Investigation indicated that Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter was Sirius' daughter and the distant cousin mentioned in the Wills, but Albus believed otherwise. This had to be the missing Rose Potter! Sirius had clearly changed her name and raised her as his own, so the prophecy was still in motion. Unfortunately however he had no proof: the girl was untouched by any visible scar or power that would indicate Voldemort had indeed 'marked as his equal' the young child and if he claimed that the Black Heir was the Girl Who Lived he would be denounced as a madman. The Blacks had made it very clear that Voldemort's death had been the work of Lily Potter and that the Unspeakables were actually making progress in the area of Warding against the Unforgivables indicated that much was indeed correct. However Albus had seen no evidence of a destroyed or dissipated Ward in that nursery, which would only be possible if it was still intact and had been removed entirely, likely with the child it protected. It was of course possible that he Dark Lord's 'mark' was purely metaphorical, but Albus was determined to ensure Voldemort's demise and the only way to do so was through Rose Potter. However he had no authority over Dorea Black, which meant he needed to acquire some before the house of Black brought all of Wizarding Britain into ruin without realising it.

But still things had gone wrong for him. Quirinus had died before Christmas, frightened to death by a Boggart, and the possessing spirit clinging to him had fled before Albus could identify it. Worse, the stone Nicholas Flamel had given him when he finished his Transfiguration Mastery was gone too! It had not been a true Philosopher's Stone, but his old Master had told him it had special properties that he would be able to activate once he had the courage and conviction in his goals to use it. Now that opportunity was lost forever and he had no idea who had robbed him of it. That the business with the Troll had made front-page news over the Christmas holidays had been another blow to his reputation, and the discovery of the Cerberus had led to him losing his position as Chief Warlock to Tiberius Ogden.

Then there had been the brief re-opening of the Chamber of Secrets the following year, which had also been over by Christmas. That an unknown beast had been roaming the school for a few months did not make the news –thankfully– but that he had not made the effort to import Mandrakes from New Zealand so as to revive the Petrified students at the New Year _had_, which had almost been worse. Lucretia Prewett donated mature mandrakes to the school in early January, leading Albus to believe he had been the victim of another Black scheme. Though as the only remaining Heir of Slytherin was Tom Riddle, how had they managed to orchestrate things in such a controlled manner? Albus eventually decided that the Chamber had not actually been opened and that one Black or another had hired a Gorgon to do the deed. Blacks were rather inventive enemies and the last opening of the Chamber had not exactly been low-key.

Last year had however been marvellously quiet, enabling him to suggest to Cornelius the idea of an international school competition of some kind to showcase the skill of British wizards. Ludo Bagman, together with the new Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, decided on the Triwizard tournament, just as Albus had believed they would. So many foreign wizards pouring into Hogwarts would attract Voldemort's attention, bringing him back to the school and into contact with Dorea Black. Albus knew that Voldemort firmly believed in the prophecy and was certain that the wraith knew exactly who it was that had been party to his vanquishing, so he simply had to see whether or not Tom personally targeted the Heiress Black in order to prove his theory. He had little doubt that Dorea Black would survive; she was after all prophesied to be Tom's equal and what little he had seen of the teenager suggested she was very much Cassiopeia Black's successor in every way that mattered. No doubt she was already learning Dark magic, which saddened him as it certainly was not a power 'the Dark Lord knew not' and would do her sanity no favours in the long run.

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><p>Remus wasn't entirely sure how Padfoot had managed to produce a daughter as calm, organised, diligent and dedicated to her education as Dorea, but suspected that part of it was her also being Lily's daughter and the rest was Madam Cassie's fault. As it was his best friend's daughter already had two OWLs, would be doing her Rune OWL come the summer and was nearly at the end of the compulsory Charms curriculum despite being only just fourteen. Her Transfiguration was easily NEWT level and Sirius had offered to tutor her in the animagus transformation over the summer, but Dorea had declined because according to her Greek Transfiguration book the modern animagus transformation locked a person into a single form and Dorea intended to rediscover the art of self-transformation as showcased by the 'gods' of Greek myth. Zeus, Hera and the rest had actually been wizards not gods, so Remus thought Dorea had a good chance of succeeding. Of course school subjects were not the only areas Dorea was well ahead of her peers in: she was an Occlumency Mistress, a Scryer, was fluent in seven languages and could read another two not counting Runes. She was also very well informed on Soul Magic and just this past summer had started learning Alchemy. She had also recently been pronounced sufficiently competent with a blade to no longer require lessons, which was very impressive indeed. All things considered, Remus really had to wonder how Lily would have turned out if she'd had access to an unexpurgated Pureblood family library like Dorea did. It was a humbling thought.<p>

However what with his sort-of goddaughter being a highly competent Slytherin, Remus was starting to get an uneasy feeling that Dorea was headed for a collision course with the murky reality of wizarding politics. After all she was less than three years off her majority now and when she turned seventeen she would be Lady Potter with all the power and influence that implied. Coupled with her evident magical power and genuine passion for making the world a better place for her friends and family, the werewolf had an odd feeling that bright, brilliant Dorea might find herself running for Minister of Magic one day in the not-too-distant future. He wasn't sure if such an occurrence would make him happy or persuade him to request permission to move to Canada, but it would doubtless be interesting. Hmm… Remus smirked, the inner streak of mischief that had ensured he was no less of a Maruader than James or Sirius –despite making prefect while at school– making itself known. The Magical Government was corrupt, rotting in place like a dying tree. As a werewolf he was horrifically discriminated against and the only reason he had a job was that Sirius didn't trust anyone else to manage James' money for him.

When Dorea came of age he'd be shunted back into a managerial position, though he fully intended to resign after she'd properly learned the ropes so she wouldn't feel obliged to keep him on. After all he'd been paid a stupidly huge amount of money to make sure the Potter Estates were well cared-for over the past decade and shrewd investments had only added more gold to his vault. If he retired tomorrow he's be able to live modestly and comfortably for the rest of his life without ever lifting a finger, not that he would ever be so lazy. Since his position only required him to work two weeks out of every four he'd spent his 'free' week –the fourth week was spent preparing for and recovering from the full moon– doing independent research into lycanthropy, magical creatures and pre-medieval curses.

He'd amassed quite a lot of material and come up with a few theories, but what was really exciting was that he'd almost managed to pin down the true nature of the lycanthropy curse, with a little help from a few fellow werewolves that is. It was looking very promising and while he was pretty sure he'd be turning into a wolf for the rest of his life, he was hopeful that the parts of the curse that turned him into an irrational ball of rage and drove him to crave human flesh could be neutralised. The Wolfsbane potion did counteract those urges, but it was a suppressant rather than a proper long-term solution as it was essentially a poison. It was far healthier for a werewolf to undergo the moon-driven transformation in an open but secure area, despite the lycanthropy-driven tendency towards self-mutilation if no convenient victims could be found. Neutralising that craving and the mindless rage would seriously limit the spread of lycanthropy, as most werewolves were victims of accidents rather than of deliberate malice like Remus himself was. Sirius had once voiced the opinion that killing Greyback would in itself drastically reduce the spread of lycanthropy, which Remus knew to be true. However Remus had _not_ agreed with his best friend's rather vindictive mumble about having a werewolf pelt as a wall-hanging, no matter how tempting the idea was.

He'd recently shared his research with Sirius, who had gamely gone through the Black Grimoires looking for clues. Was still going through the Grimoires, in fact: the Black bloodline was old, the established noble family going back to France in the eighth century while their heritage was rumoured to stretch back even further, all the way to ancient Greece. There had been no Greek Blacks for nearly two thousand years of course, but the family hoarded everything and there were piles and piles of old records and scrolls in ancient languages in the dozen family Gringotts vaunts and hidden document rooms in various established family houses. Remus was pretty sure the information was there, somewhere. Finding it would take time though. It at least gave Padfoot something to do beyond manage the family finances, exchange letters with the Weasley Twins and worry about his daughter.

* * *

><p>Dorea slumped in her seat in the train compartment Daphne had staked out for the group, head leaning against Zee's shoulder and completely engrossed in the large volume that was a transcription of an Ancient Greek collection of scrolls on types of Soul Magic and how they corresponded to peoples' personalities and strengths. It was a truly fascinating and unexpectedly scientific piece of work, peppered with eye-witness accounts and personal histories. Dorea's project for the year was to teach herself to use Soulfire or, as it was also called, Will's Flame, in between expanding her knowledge of Ritual Magic and Alchemy. Rituals interested her because quite a lot of them could be adapted to be powered by Soulfire rather than magic, or at least so it appeared from reading between the lines. Certainly in some cases the effects of certain rituals were not proportional to the amount of magic expended in setting them in motion, even taking astral movements into account. If she could properly determine which rituals tapped into a person's Soulfire and how then she might be able to adapt any ritual of her choice to run wholly on it, making it possible for them to be used more easily by squibs and even Muggles. Soulfire was a quality inherent to all human beings after all, even though the vast majority could no more harness it than they could magic.<p>

Her friends were also interested, mainly because the best Soulfire focuses were gemstones rather than wands, which would make it an excellent backup skill in case of being disarmed or in a location where conventional magic would attract unwanted attention. The books Abraxas had given her had been utterly fascinating and had provided her with a solid foundation on which to build her knowledge, books that even now were being read by Zee on her right and Dee opposite her. Mione was reading the Law books she'd borrowed from the Black Library, having decided that since it was the laws and customs of British Magical Society that stood in the way of her ambitions then she needed to know her enemy. The Muggleborn girl had gotten a lot more driven since hitting puberty and her temper had become ever so slightly scary; Zee had mentioned –in Italian so Hermione didn't kill him for his audacity– that a boyfriend might mellow her out a bit. Trey was reading a potions manual –she had decided that she wanted to be a Healer when she graduated– Theo had his nose in a battered old book that had no obvious title on its peeling binding and Millie Bulstrode, who had mellowed rather since her figure developed, was playing exploding snap with Padma and Luna. Currently Luna was winning.

The compartments on the Hogwarts Express only appeared large enough for six, as that was how many seats they contained, but pushing up the armrests meant eight could be fitted in quite comfortably provided none of the eight were particularly large. As Zee was tall rather than wide and Millie was the only member of their party who strictly qualified as 'large', they were all perfectly comfortable. Luna and Trey were both smallish anyway, so while rather a close fit it wasn't uncomfortable. If any more people wanted to sit in the compartment with them then the Re-Sizing Charms on the carriage would kick in, enlarging the internal space so that there was room for every person to have their own seat. The overhead rack would also extend, which was handy as otherwise there would be limited luggage space. What with how low the numbers of students attending Hogwarts had been in recent decades due to the War, most people had no idea that the Express was Charmed this way, as it had not been necessary to use them. However now that attendance was picking up again it was likely that people would start to notice them more. The prefects knew about them, as they met on the train and fitting twenty-four students into a single compartment would be impossible without Expansion Charms, but nobody else did. Dorea only knew because she'd seen them in action.

Moros was perched on the edge of the luggage rack, poised to attack should any unwary fool barge in through the door, Mione's Crookshanks was curled up in said girl's lap and purring up a storm and Fizz was curled around Dorea's neck, dozing fitfully and dreaming of mice. Fizz was now nearly eight feet long and didn't seem likely to stop growing any time soon, which Dorea suspected to be due to his spending so much time in the presence of a Parselmouth. From what she'd been able to discover, parselmouths affected snakes by having a magical affinity for them. This meant that she could communicate with Fizz, but also that her spells would affect serpents and serpent-like Creatures more strongly. It also suggested that snakes were more likely to absorb the low-level magic she radiated naturally, which affected them by heightening their intelligence, increasing their size and lengthening their lifespan. Basilisks were likely the culmination of Herpo the Foul's own investigations into this area, but Dorea was more interested in phoenixes.

Phoenixes were a fascinating contradiction: they hatched from fertile Ashwinder eggs, which were incredibly rare since most magical fires never produced more than one Ashwinder. Ashwinders were hermaphroditic but couldn't self-fertilise, so most of their eggs were sterile. However if fertile Ashwinder eggs were left alone the fire that sprung up around them would burn for twenty-eight days and nights before dying, at which point one or maybe two of the eggs would hatch into phoenix chicks.

The rarity of phoenixes indicated how unlikely such a thing was to happen; Dorea doubted that more than four hundred birds existed in the entire world. As phoenixes couldn't breed –no doubt connected to their inability to die and how much less rare they'd be if they were capable of it– this indicated that only four hundred Ashwinder eggs had ever hatched since the first magical fire came to be. Considering that most of the holy 'eternal flames' had been sabotaged during the medieval period, few fires were large and intense enough to produce more than one Ashwinder at once nowadays and most wizards froze any eggs they found, not wanting their houses to be burnt down around them. Ashwinder eggs were an important ingredient in most Love Potions, as well as a number of healing potions. Dorea suspected that if people realised that Ashwinder eggs were phoenix eggs then more people would be inclined to try and hatch them. This could be very damaging if someone as enthusiastically naïve as Hagrid tried, since limiting the spread of intense magical fire was a very difficult skill and made hatching Ashwinder eggs as hazardous as breeding dragons in Central London.

Turning a page, Dorea let herself become engrossed once more in the spectrum of Soul Fire described and the temperaments associated with them.


	31. Chapter 31

Beta'd by the eloquent InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of intuition and its consequences<strong>

When Dumbledore introduced the scarred, battered man with the wooden leg as 'Professor Moody' Dorea instantly knew two things: Firstly, this man was _not_ Alastor Moody; secondly, that he was nonetheless the trustworthy adult confidant she'd been wishing for and could be relied upon to keep her secrets. There were some things you couldn't share with family while at Hogwarts, never mind that family usually couldn't give you an outside viewpoint on the subject, and Professor Snape was out because she'd come to realise that the only reason he was teaching was that Dumbledore had something on him. She did like her Head of House, but the Headmaster was not to be trusted with so much as a bent spoon.

Dorea did not doubt her instincts: they had only gotten more accurate over time and were never, ever wrong. Of course, some of the things they drove her to do were a bit peculiar –she still wasn't sure why she needed to read that rather disturbing book on runic marriage rituals– but they'd always been incredibly useful in hindsight. It had been her instincts that had prompted her to ask Padma about Parselmouths, for instance, at the Indian girl had not only been well-informed and not remotely biased but had provided her with books and later enabled her to enter in correspondence with another snake speaker! Admittedly Dorea needed to improve her Hindi so as to be able to communicate more effectively, but that was a work-in-progress both Patil twins were helping her with. Her correspondent claimed that English as a language lacked the nuanced subtlety required to properly communicate how Parselmagic worked and since there was no written form of snake-speech –snakes did not write after all– Hindi it would have to be.

The Black Heiress was however not even slightly interested in the proposed Triwizard Tournament, at least not beyond how badly it would disrupt her schedule. She and her friends only had another few months left of the compulsory Charms curriculum left and not much more than that in the Defence curriculum. What they'd do with their group study time after that was still up in the air, but Dorea suspected that learning to harness Soulfire would be what caught her friends' interest. They were already borrowing her books on the subject after all, even the Weasley Twins.

Her study group had undergone fission in the spring of the previous year as a result of the addition of numerous Hufflepuffs and a handful of younger students. Now Dorea and her core clique met two evenings a week, then on two other afternoons Dorea and two of her friends would lead the second study group. Luna often volunteered for this, as did Trey, but the teaching was led by Neville who was blossoming wonderfully and proving a truly excellent leader. As the secondary study group was nearly two-dozen strong by the end of the last year, Dorea suspected they'd need to split it again when the new first-years found out about it and more of the second-years tried to join. She had gone to great lengths to ensure everyone knew it _wasn't_ a club, so everything was unofficial, but there had usually been a Hufflepuff prefect in attendance when the larger group met –nominally to learn but probably to keep order– or if not then an older member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Dorea was very pleased with how well her campaign to connect with the badgers was going and rather hoped that Hannah, Susan and Ernie would be interested in coming along to the 'upper group' when she invited them. Those three had been the first to come along to her study sessions and had been the furthest ahead of the newcomers when the group split, so they were almost caught up with her other friends now.

Dumbledore then announced the Triwizard Tournament and Dorea noticed that less than a third of her fellow-snakes looked remotely enthused. Likely because taking part would require them to _volunteer_, they would be placed under a binding magical contract and therefore unable to back out and worse, the so-called 'eternal glory' was anything but. Who remembered the name of the person who'd won the last time it had been held? Nobody, that was who. One thousand Galleons would be nice, but Dorea didn't need them and a good half of her House-mates were similarly well-off. The Gryffindors however looked ecstatic –this was their kind of thing– as did two-thirds of the Hufflepuffs and at least half the Ravenclaws. While the lions were past hoping for, Dorea was sure she could call back to sanity those of her fellow snakes who had taken leave of their senses.

"Look, let's all agree to cheer whoever ends up competing in the daft thing, since they're representing the school and all, but otherwise stay out of the whole mess," Dorea suggested. "That way we can focus on what actually matters like making connections, getting good grades and not getting noticed by the horde that will doubtless descend when this circus gets started."

"Seconded," said Rosier sharply, the sixth-year looking thoroughly put-out by her less intelligent male peers' excitement. The older girl's friendship with the younger Weasley twin had outlived his tenure as Jerry Prewett and won Dorea the older girl's unwavering support in keeping in check those of their fellows whose ambition outstripped their cunning. "This is just a publicity stunt by Dumbledore, trying to win people over after the Quirrell and Chamber fiascos."

That entering the tournament would equate supporting Dumbledore's agenda promptly killed any Slytherin's inclination to enter, so mealtime conversation turned instead to upcoming classes, Quidditch –because a lack of official matches was no reason not to play– and introducing the new first-years to how the house of Snakes comported itself in public. A few seats to Dorea's right Ade and Odile were chatting to the new fifth-year prefects, helping them get their heads around what would need doing and how they should go about it. There were _twenty six_ new snakelings joining this year, twelve girls and fourteen boys; Cousin Stephanie and Edwin Vaisey were going to have their work cut out for them.

With that potential problem nipped in the bud, Dorea started planning out how she would go about permanently dismantling the parsel-locks on the Planetarium and showing it off to Professor Sinistra. The unlocking could be done later in the evening, but the Astronomy Professor did not have open office hours until Wednesday afternoon at the earliest, so she would have to either write a note requesting an earlier slot of just book an appointment the normal way. A note would probably be most diplomatic, considering the scope of the discovery…

* * *

><p>Rather fortuitously Dorea and her fellow snakes had Defence with Professor Not-Moody first thing on Monday morning, so after a really enjoyable lesson on the legality of various curses she lingered and asked the new teacher if she could visit his office on Tuesday after dinner to talk. She explained it as 'not being something I can really discuss with my father as he is too close to the issue' and her having chosen Not-Moody –not that she called him that to his face– due to 'Professor Snape being far too busy with his Head-of-House duties' and the new professor's familiarity with the Ministry. The magical eye had rolled in its socket at her, but Not-Moody had agreed gruffly and told her to come by his office on the second floor at half-past six. Dorea had thanked him with a smile then hurried off to her favourite Music Room to play some Tchaikovsky.<p>

When Tuesday evening came around Dorea made her way to the office that every last Defence Professor had spent their year of teaching working from and knocked politely.

"Come in, Black," came the gruff voice of Alastor Moody; Dorea's two days' contemplation of the situation had convinced her that the impostor was using Polyjuice, which meant that the real Moody was alive, reasonably well and in Hogwarts. Probably locked in a trunk, considering Dorea had used that very method to smuggle Ginny Weasley out of the school in her second year. Her instincts however told her she didn't need to worry about the retired Auror, so she didn't.

"Thank-you for agreeing to this, sir," she said politely, letting herself in and closing the door behind her. The scarred man had set out a low table which had a battered tea set sitting on it and two chairs; Dorea's had its back to the door so she shifted it around slightly so that was no longer the case. Not-Moody grinned appreciatively at her caution.

"Smart move there, lass. Remember, constant vigilance!" he barked before conjuring up a stream of boiling hot water to fill the teapot with. Dorea automatically checked her cup of Darjeeling for any unwanted additions, the wandless and wordless little Charm enabling her to verify that her instincts were correct yet again. Not-Moody noticed of course but just chuckled approvingly. Once she had taken a sip of the tea Dorea settled in to talk; it was after all what she'd come for.

"What really got me started on worrying was how my father got thrown in Azkaban without a trial," she began, using her Occlumency training to calm her mind so that her instincts could rise to the surface. This was _important_ and she needed to do it right. "It only really sunk in when Mr Crouch died and Father told me about Uncle Regulus and Cousin Barty."

Dorea's eyes were on her tea, but she still saw Not-Moody twitch in the reflection cast in her cup by the torchlight. It was a trick her great-aunt had taught her that most people never really noticed. "Especially Cousin Barty: he didn't do anything wrong except make friends with the so-called 'wrong' people and his own father tossed him in Azkaban after a show trial where they didn't even bother to interview the suspects properly! Barty had only been nineteen and he was dead less than a year later, all because Mr Crouch didn't want his 'traitor' son getting in the way of his Ministry career." Dorea huffed indignantly. "Well, Grandpa Arcturus soon put a stop to that; Father's trial going the way it did really put the kneazle among the pigeons and every trial he'd ever participated in was reviewed. Cousin Barty getting posthumously declared innocent ensured Crouch would never, ever be Minister and good riddance to the man; I just wish he'd still been alive so we could have helped him."

Dorea glanced up at Not-Moody, whose expression was rather hard to read what with all the scars. "Barty Crouch was my father's third cousin and Grandpa would have taken him in and made sure he got treatment, like he did for Father. Blacks look out for each-other after all; it's what family should do. If Great-Aunt Charis hadn't already been dead she'd probably have skinned her son alive for what he did to his own son, her grandson. I know Great-Aunt Cedrella refused to attend any event he'd be present at after he threw Barty in jail and Great-Aunt Callidora only ever attended those events so as to be venomous in person."

She sighed. "Thinking about Barty makes Father quiet and depressed because of Regulus; Regulus and Barty were Slytherins together but my uncle died when he was barely out of school, while Father was on the run with the Potters. Father never got to reconcile with him and I know he really wanted to, so it depresses him to think of how many other people he'll never get to see again due to the stupid war." Dorea finished her tea and Not-Moody poured her another cup.

"Which leads me back to the Ministry. If the system wasn't so stupidly convoluted and corrupt neither Father nor Barty would ever have been thrown in jail in the first place. Dumbledore has far too much power and is happy to sit back and do nothing while everything falls into ruin around his ears and I can't _stand_ it!" The real Moody was a friend of the Headmaster, but Dorea was pretty sure the man she was talking to wouldn't piss on the old coot if he was on fire. "The legal system needs an overhaul, the powers need separating out so no person can hold more than one position at once and the bureaucracy needs streamlining so things actually get _done_ without needing to bribe people to do their jobs."

"Is that what you're planning on doing when you graduate? Take over the Ministry?" Not-Moody asked with a grin. "Sounds like you've got a plan of some kind."

"I'd much rather not, but if that's what it takes to purge the system of idiots then I'll do it," Dorea said grimly. "I do not want to be Minister –it's a thankless job if you do it right– but I'm sure that a team of Hufflepuffs with a Gryffindor to lead the way and a few Ravenclaws to back them up would be able to drag our society out of the muck it's currently wallowing in and back onto the international stage. That way the next generation might be able to actually _learn_ things at Hogwarts rather than just be force-fed the bigoted, wishy-washy nonsense that's left over when all the real knowledge had been banned due to being 'subversive'. Why isn't there a compulsory Wizarding Culture course for first-year Muggle-raised students? That way they wouldn't blunder in and insult our way of life because they don't have a clue what's going on or why! There should be language classes like there are in the other major magical schools and history should go back further than the Founders' time, as there were wizards around over four thousand years before then in some parts of the world!" Dorea took another sip of tea. "Sorry to rant at you, professor; I'm not best pleased by the quality of the education I am paying for."

"I don't blame you Black, if those are your complaints," Not-Moody said equitably. "Hogwarts does have fewer subjects than it did when I attended. Fewer students too, but that's mostly due to the war."

"Lots of people left," Dorea agreed. "That they didn't come back should have been our government's first clue."

* * *

><p>After Dorea Black left his office the disguised Barty Crouch sat back in his chair and stared pensively into space, cradling his teacup. He hadn't known about his pardon; no doubt his father had kept him ignorant and hidden because revealing that he'd broken his son out of Azkaban would have had <em>him<em> arrested, since he'd committed a crime. Barty ironically would have gotten off and probably been treated to a recompense; it was hardly _his_ fault his father had placed him under Imperius after all. The spell was damn hard to fight even for a healthy person, never mind one suffering from Dementor exposure. He was a free man, had been for nearly a decade, and he hadn't known. His master hadn't mentioned it either; probably hadn't thought it mattered. It didn't _really_; Barty wasn't going to abandon his master just because he now had options, but his master's lack of faith in his devotion was rather offensive. _He_ had been the one to seek out his master upon his father's death, _he_ had gifted his master with his own house-elf so that his Lord would be well cared-for while Barty was completing his master's mission so he could rise again. Even now he was gently twisting the charms on the Goblet of Fire to his master's purposes and observing the one who had been party to his downfall.

Dorea Black, Rose Potter, had been the means by which the Dark Lord had been defeated. A Potter Blood Ward cast by James and his mudblood wife upon the child –who wasn't even James' daughter– had led to his master's incorporeal state. Barty didn't see how any of that was Dorea's fault, but his master wanted to make an example of her after his rebirth, so Barty would be bringing her along when the summons came. Until then he would bide his time, ensure the tournament went reasonably smoothly and that Dumbledore was kept too busy to speculate. A spot of discreet sabotage here and there would likely suffice; just enough to keep the old fool guessing and aimless enough to be confusing. Maybe a little extra to test Dorea and her friends, so as to get an idea of her capabilities before he abducted her.

Barty liked Dorea; she was like a female and more assertive Regulus with a touch of Bella's good looks and none of her sadism. She was a good student, her entire House followed her lead and she was subverting the other Houses to her cause right under Dumbledore's nose. It would be a shame to waste all that hard work; perhaps his master would agree to put off killing her until she'd made good on her intentions. A more efficient Ministry would make taking over much easier, after all.

No, the Dark Lord wouldn't go for it though; he wanted to make a statement and that meant Dorea would die in the coming June. Barty sighed, took another sip of Polyjuice and made a face; it was disgustingly similar to boiled cabbage. At least Dumbledore was completely fooled and had given him free reign in the classroom; he intended to terrify the lions and badgers with a practical demonstration of the Unforgivables…


	32. Chapter 32

Beta'd by the incomparable InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of identity and ambition<strong>

To Fred, no time at all passed between seeing glowing eyes reflected in the mirror on the fourth floor and waking up in the Hospital wing, so that two months had passed him by took some getting used to. What took more getting used to was that the entire nature of reality had changed somehow while he wasn't looking and now the Slytherins could tell him and George apart. Well, they didn't know which one of them was 'Fred' and which was 'George', but they could conclusively identify Fred as being the twin who had been Petrified. They called him 'Not-Prewett'.

This had been confusing and irritating for the time it took him to weasel out of his twin and friends what had happened in those missing two months, after which it had been less confusing but no less irritating. The Slytherins would call out to George in the corridors and his twin would _answer_! Civilly, even! They either called him 'Prewett' or 'Jerry' and it was perfectly clear that they were _George's_ friends, not 'the Twins' friends. Fred had tried to get over it –he was grateful that Dorea had looked after his twin while he was incapacitated even though her chosen method had been to stash George in the Snake Pit– but despite managing to bury his resentment until the summer, said resentment hadn't exactly gone away.

Summer however had been fun enough that he almost completely forgot about the Prewett Problem: Great-Uncle Iggy had invited them over for a fortnight and been very interested in their original prank items. Fred had then broached their shared dream of opening a joke shop, which their great-uncle had encouraged them in and offered to provide them with start-up funds, provided of course they got at _least_ six OWLS each. He also promised them financial incentives for every Exceeds Expectations and Outstanding they got as well as each OWL above the minimum six, so both he and George had thrown themselves into studying with grim purpose. If grades would get them cash for their dream, then they'd get the grades.

However come the new school year Fred had once more been confronted with the Prewett Problem, made worse by George objecting to pranks on their fellow fifth-years in the House of Snakes. Fred had gotten grumpier and more irritable all the way until mid-December, when he hadn't been able to bear it any longer and had exploded in fury. It hadn't gone the way he'd expected: rather than argue back just as furiously the way he always had before on those vanishingly rare occasions they disagreed, George had run away. Out of the dorm, the Gryffindor Tower and completely disappeared.

It had been _awful_. Fred had felt like he was barely a third of his usual self without George there and the bitter, guilty emptiness had gnawed away at his insides for two whole days until he managed to track down his twin, who was lying low in Slytherin, _again_. Fred would have been angrier about that if he hadn't felt so miserable and depressed over alienating the only person who truly understood and accepted him.

It had taken Fred a further three days to get over himself, corner George and apologise, three days he never, ever wanted to repeat. How had George managed to last two whole months of this? Less than a week had half-killed him! However, a benefit of the whole fiasco was that now he'd got past the prejudice Fred discovered that the fifth-year snakes were actually his kind of people, so long as you could overlook the snotty accents and occasionally incomprehensibly _boring_ ambitions.

Appealing to Dorea had gotten him his own Prewett nickname and a not-quite matching disguise, so rather than 'Not-Prewett' the snakes in his year now called him 'Frank' to his twin's 'Jerry'. Shortly after that he'd received a letter from Great-Uncle Iggy, explaining that since he and Great-Aunt Lulu had no children, they wanted to make him and George their heirs in their Wills. That had just been mind-boggling, especially since in the next paragraph Iggy had offered to write to their father and ask if he'd be amenable to them changing their names, so as to carry the Prewett name onwards. There weren't many Prewetts left in the main family, just Muriel and Iggy, neither of whom had children. If he and George got adopted –which wouldn't be hard considering Mum was Great-Uncle Iggy's niece– then they would inherit the Prewett fortune rather than it going to one of Mum's second cousins. Muriel loathed them, but she was Iggy's younger sister and so didn't actually get a say. Fred was tempted, though he wouldn't do it if his parents didn't agree. It wasn't worth dividing the family over.

As it turned out Mum had been a bit hesitant, but had agreed they could do it if they wanted to –so long as they waited until Great-Uncle Iggy was actually dead. That way it would feel less like they were leaving the family. Fred knew Mum expected Great-Uncle Iggy to continue going strong for another few decades yet, so she probably expected them all to have married and settled down by then and was hoping to have grandkids to spoil. It also gave her more time to get used to the idea, which Fred was fine with. That she had accepted the proposal however meant she wouldn't have a leg to stand on if she protested Great-Uncle Iggy's funding of the joke shop, which was funny and slightly evil as a prank. Ultimately harmless, but Mum would be _so_ cross when she found out! It was going to be hilarious!

* * *

><p>Studying for their OWLs was quite possibly the most boring, mind-numbingly unpleasant thing they'd ever done, but once it was done both twins kicked back and went a bit crazy on the prank front. Nothing nasty: lots of bright colours, temporary partial transfigurations and fireworks at odd times of day or night. This festive mood had continued into the holidays.<p>

Fred and George were both invited over to Dorea's for three weeks of mad pranking with Dorea's dad, who had turned out to be Padfoot the Marauder. That the Potter Family Estate Manager was Moony and James Potter had been Prongs had almost been too much for the twins, but they recovered swiftly when it became clear that nobody was going to stop the hilarity for anything less than a near-fatal injury. Dorea vanished half-way through week one, only appearing at the dinner table where a truce –enforced by the house-elves– was in effect and spending the rest of her time in her room. George however made use of their perilous cousin's brilliance by knocking politely every so often and asking questions about this or that so as to acquire more inspiration. Dorea was utterly brilliant at it –with Padfoot as a father it was almost a given– but she usually couldn't be bothered to join in herself. This was probably for the best, as Dorea was even scarier now than she had been aged ten and could be ruthlessly vicious in way neither the twins nor the Marauders ever wanted to deal with. As Padfoot had commented, St Mungo's still hadn't been able to cure Neville's Great-Uncle of his persistent donkey-like braying problem.

After the three weeks were up and they returned to the Burrow, their mother was pole-axed by the letter bearing the astounding news that both Fred and George had managed to get _nine_ OWLs. _Each_. Mum had barely been able to believe it, especially when they'd each got _three_ Os. She'd been so delighted once she recovered from the shock that she bought them both new dress robes –that they got to _choose_– and agreed to buy them a pet. Fred was dead set on having an owl –he'd always wanted one– but George quietly but firmly voiced his desire for a cat. Both their parents had been baffled by this sudden show of individuality, but Dad had gamely agreed to buy them a pet _each_, since they'd both done equally well and buying a pet that only one of them actually wanted would be unfair to the other twin.

So after a trip to Diagon Fred had a long-eared owl that he'd lovingly named 'Terror' and George was the proud owner of an utterly gorgeous female Russian Blue cat, named 'Chaos' because she wasn't fully grown yet and got into everything. Chaos was about one-quarter Kneazle, so she'd been quite expensive, but Mum had been so dazzled by their grades she hadn't minded. The best thing about the holidays though was that, since they'd moved all their stock to Prewett House, Mum didn't discover it when she went on a sudden cleaning spree the week after they got their results back. Much as they loved their mother she was a bit overbearing and seemed to think they should all work for the Ministry, something George was now even more categorically against than Fred was for some reason. Fred put this down as a result of George's sojourn among the snakes.

Fred just thought Mum was way out of touch: Bill earned more as a Curse-Breaker than he ever could in a Ministry job, Charlie was happy tending to dragons and his hazard pay was nothing to sneeze at either. Percy _was_ going into the Ministry but he was a pompous prat and rather disturbingly naïve about politics, so Fred suspected he'd soon get cruelly disillusioned or become even more unbearable. Ron didn't seem to have any ambition beyond joining the Chudley Cannons –not that he was all that great at Quidditch– and Mum had been getting on his case more than ever this year as his grades made it clear he really wasn't making much of an effort. He was taking _divination_ of all things, which practically shouted 'I am a lazy tosser!' to any prospective employer. He and George had taken Muggle Studies and Care, though they had taken the latter mainly in the interests of learning about how to deal with animals you wanted to turn into potion ingredients and get new original prank ideas. Which had worked out pretty well for them, all things considered.

* * *

><p>Finding out about the Triwizard Tournament had been incredibly exciting: while the twins didn't need the money now –Great-Uncle Iggy had set up an account for them as soon as they showed him the letter with their grades– it certainly wouldn't hurt, and the prospect of representing the school in an international contest was just <em>so<em> tempting. Unfortunately they wouldn't be quite old enough, but Fred was sure an Aging Potion would fix that. Dorea just rolled her eyes when he mentioned this to her, which he took as her considering his enthusiasm to be incomprehensively Gryffindor but letting him continue unimpeded as it was his life. He was getting rather good at reading his scariest cousin. However other than the cruel and unusual cancelling of Quidditch, it was shaping up to be a good year. They had a competent Defence teacher –again! Two years in a row was impressive– had got good enough marks in their OWLs to continue with the subjects they wanted to and the Triwizard Tournament promised to be great fun even if they weren't selected as champions. As it turned out _none_ of the Slytherins were entering for some bizarre reason, there would be less competition for the rest of them.

The thing that was hardest to get used to in sixth year was attending Potions class without George. Fred had got an O in the subject but George had only achieved an E, meaning that Snape wouldn't let him in because he was a perfectionist git. The rest of the classes the two of them were continuing they shared –Transfiguration, Charms and Defence– but it felt peculiar to sit in front of a cauldron without his brother beside him. George had somehow got into music lessons and attended those while Fred was in the dungeons, so it wasn't like he was leaving his twin to his own devices, but it was still odd. Fred would have quit but George hadn't let him, insisting that he not allow George's lack of aptitude for the subject prevent him from learning new stuff. After all they could still practice together couldn't they?

Fred couldn't really argue with that logic, so he settled for making his twin help him with his Potions' homework, listening to George practice his flute and taking the time to get to know those of his year-mates who had met Snape's exacting standards. The sixth-year potions class consisted of six Slytherins, two Hufflepuffs, five Ravenclaws and Fred himself as the only Gryffindor. It was actually rather disconcerting to realise that he'd surpassed _all_ his fellow lions in this subject despite not studying nearly as hard as, say, Angelina who had only just scraped an E despite hours and hours of revising. He'd always known he had a good mind but Mum and Dad had never made a fuss over them like they did over Bill and Percy or even Charlie. But _Charlie_ hadn't made it into NEWT-level potions when he was in Hogwarts, so Fred had gone one better than his dragon-obsessed brother there.

Of course, being in Potions class made access to ingredients much easier, meaning it wouldn't be very hard at all to brew and Aging Potion to tackle the promised age-line with. However before that the other two schools had to arrive, which could only be interesting.


	33. Chapter 33

Beta'd by the fabulous Insane Scriptist.

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><p><strong>Of guests and blatant cheating<strong>

Having to stand outside the castle on the evening of the 30th of October and wait for the representatives of the two guest schools was not something Dorea was looking forward to at all, for all that she knew quite a bit about Beauxbatons due to her cousin Morgane Poincarré née Blac being a dormitory supervisor there. Beauxbatons had originally been an all-girls school modelled after a nunnery, but after the Napoleonic wars and related closure of the royalty-sponsored school in Aragon had opened a new wing so that boys could also attend. The school's population was still heavily female-dominated however, as most magical parents in Europe preferred to send their sons to La Scuola Sabina, which had a more martial and business-orientated curriculum. Beauxbatons focused more on scholarship, politics and the arts, clinging to its heritage as an institution dedicated to the production of ladies of quality.

Durmstrang on the other hand Dorea only knew about through the letters her late Great-Aunt Cassiopeia's friends still sent, though it was now Dorea's responsibility to answer them, sharing British gossip and putting forth requests of her own. She'd met about two-thirds of the people she wrote to in person, none of them more than twice, but they all seemed perfectly content to correspond with a teenager regardless of that. It made Dorea wonder quite how much her Great-Aunt had written to them about her before her death. Perhaps they enjoyed a younger perspective on things or were interested in educating the younger generation?

She knew that the Durmstrang Institute was located in northern Scandinavia and accepted students from right across Eastern Europe, but not from Russia as the Russians had their own school. This had not changed during the Muggle Cold War, as Magical national boundaries had not changed during that time. Durmstrang did not accept Muggleborns, but _did_ accept the children of Muggleborns provided they were raised within Magical society. Muggleborns in North and Eastern Europe attended trade schools regardless of their social status and intelligence, probably in part because Trade Schools had compulsory Wizarding Integration classes that Durmstrang did not. As Durmstrang was rather small getting in was considered a privilege, not a right, so getting a letter was a cause for great pride and rejoicing.

However none of this did anything to change the fact that Dorea was standing outside on a cold autumn evening, very glad for her warm winter cloak and feeling that the entire exercise was somewhat pointless. What was the point of everyone standing out in the cold like this, especially before dinner? That they had to stand with their House and Year was bad enough; it felt pointless and pretentious to wait in the dark like this. When the other schools arrived nobody would be able to see them!

"I wonder how the other two schools are coming here," Tracy mused.

"_I_ wonder how late they're going to be," Blaise muttered, huddling closer to Dorea and Theo. Blaise really did _not_ like the Scottish weather; he claimed it was far too damp to be pleasant, even on a clear evening like this.

Then Dumbledore said something about the delegation from Beauxbatons and Dorea glanced up, gasping in delight as she was the winged horses. Abraxans! A matched set too, and so well-trained! Being rather tall for her age gave her an advantage, as she was able to look over the heads of the younger students in front of her in order to admire the magnificent beasts. When the applause started she automatically joined in, then belatedly turned back to see why.

The immensely tall woman in front of the carriage was doubtless Madame Maxime, though Dorea really had to wonder about the thirteen-odd older teens shivering behind her. Hadn't they heard how abysmal the Scottish weather was? It wasn't exactly a secret! She was not surprised when their statuesque headmistress led them inside to warm up, though Dorea didn't think much of their intelligence if they hadn't thought of Warming Charms. She had Permanent Warming Wards wound into her scarf now, as did her gloves and socks. Her hat and cloak had come pre-Warded, so hadn't needed them adding. Inside her cloak Fizz mumbled irritably about '_human silliness_'. As far as the snake was concerned, hospitality should be shown by not killing the invaders of their territory and everything else was superfluous. Dorea currently lacked the inclination to argue with that point of view.

Durmstrang were clearly attempting to be fashionably late, which was falling rather flat since the French had been punctual. Dorea was about to try and sneak to the back of the crowd and back indoors when one of the lions spotted something going on in the lake: a whirlpool. Then a mast emerged from the whirlpool, followed by a slightly skeletal wooden galleon that settled on the surface as the disturbance in the water died away. Dorea was frankly amazed that the Giant Squid hadn't taken offence. The ship glided up to the bank, a gangplank was lowered and people started to descend. This party was much smaller than the one from Beauxbatons; Dorea counted eight including their headmaster. Then again, Durmstrang was a much smaller school despite its distinguished past.

As the little cavalcade came closer Dorea saw that they were dressed appropriately for the weather, which was only to be expected really considering they were from somewhere even _colder_ than Scotland. As they came close enough to be properly visible in the light streaming out of Hogwarts' massive front doors, Dorea saw that their headmaster was Igor Karkaroff, Death Eater exonerated after ratting out a dozen of his fellows. A coward, Dorea decided, but no less dangerous for that. As the late Pettigrew had proved, cowards were not to be under-estimated.

"Hey, Rhea! Look at the guy right behind Karkaroff. Isn't that Victor Krum?" Terence hissed excitedly in her ear, one hand gripping her shoulder. Dorea obligingly looked; so it was. Not that she'd ever seen him before, but she did read the newspapers –just not the _Daily Prophet_– and the famous Bulgarian Seeker had featured heavily in the sports sections in the run-up to the Quidditch World Cup back in August.

"Yes, it is," she said calmly; she suspected Victor Krum didn't think much of his fame or his more idiotic fans, if the scowl on his face was any indication. "Come on; let's go inside."

"Show a bit more enthusiasm, Rhea!" Rence pleaded, keeping in step with her and Dee as Zee led the way to the Great Hall. "He caught the snitch at the World Cup Final!"

Dorea wondered what Rence would say if she told him that she had been the baby that the mostly-late Dark Lord had tried and failed to kill and if he'd be as starry-eyed about it as he was being over Krum.

The Durmstrang students had stalled in the doorway, seemingly undecided over where to sit. The Beauxbatons students had already made themselves comfortable at the Ravenclaw table, so Dorea decided to be hospitable and changed direction, Dee at her side, and came to a halt in front of Krum, who seemed to be in charge of making decisions.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said with a polite smile, looking the older and taller boy in the eye; "I am Dorea Black, Heiress Black, and I would like to invite you and your fellow students to dine at the Slytherin table." She waved a hand over to where her fellow snakes were sitting.

"A pleasure, Miss Black," Krum said gruffly, his voice deep and harshly accented. "I am Victor Krum. Ve vould be happy to take you up on your kind offer." He offered her an arm, which she accepted. Dee took the arm of the boy behind him and they made their way over to her fellow Slytherins, all of whom were clearly delighted by her show of initiative. The Gryffindors across the room looked a bit sour, but they could have made the offer first if they'd wanted to. That they hadn't spoke of self-absorption, rudeness and the assumption that the Durmstrang students would gravitate to their table anyway because _everybody_ wanted to be in Gryffindor. Being supposedly the House of the Brave, they really should have made the first move.

Krum politely showed her onto the bench, then removed his cloak before sitting down himself, setting the heavy furs beside him. He was now sat on Dorea's left, the furs on his other side. Dee was lowered to sit opposite Dorea, while Zee had claimed the place at her right and Trey was on Dee's right. The Durmstrang students' robes were dark red, which stood out in the hall just as well as the powder-blue robes of the Beauxbatons students.

"Are the plates real gold?" the boy –young man really– who had taken Daphne's arm asked curiously as he picked one up.

"I don't think so," Theo offered, "as gold's rather soft and the cutlery doesn't damage the plates at all. They're more likely to be bronze or brass."

"Still very impressive," a red-robed girl further down the table added, looking up at the starry ceiling.

At that moment Draco sat down a few spaces down from Trey and made puppy eyes up at Dorea. Draco had been getting gradually more bearable over the past year and had taken to avoiding Pansy, who in turn was attempting to cultivate the lower years in an attempt to improve her standing. The pug-nosed girl wasn't succeeding, much to her dismay. Dorea's study-group had thus far snapped up all of the younger students Pansy considered worth cultivating and most of those she wouldn't have bothered with anyway. It had swallowed up most of the 'worthwhile' students from the other houses too.

"Cousin Rhea?" The platinum-blond asked hopefully. Dorea sighed.

"Mister Krum, may I present my second cousin, Draco Malfoy, Heir Malfoy. Draco, this is Victor Krum." Krum nodded across the table at Draco, who gave his best social smile and said,

"A pleasure to meet you; I was fortunate enough to see you at the World Cup. You fly Seeker much better than I do."

"Thank-you," Krum said tersely; Dorea got the impression he didn't much like his public.

"Sitting opposite you are Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davies," Dorea went on, "to your left is Theo Nott and to my right is Blaise Zabini. We are all fourth-years, so I don't think the Tournament will be affecting us all that much."

Krum nodded to Dee, Trey and Zee, and shook hands with Theo. "A pleasure," he said shortly. Then the staff entered, followed by Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Madame Maxine, so all conversations were put on hold until later.

* * *

><p>By the end of the meal Krum had requested that Dorea call him 'Victor' and she had also insisted he call her by her first name and he had proved a friendly and enthusiastic conversationalist so long as his fame and Quidditch were not mentioned. By that point Dorea had volunteered herself to give him a tour of the school the following morning –since it would be a Saturday– and invited him to spend time with her friends during their study time, both of which Victor had been very amenable to. He had also told her quite a lot about Durmstrang, Bulgaria and his favourite subjects. However the very pleasant dinnertime conversation had to come to an end, as Dumbledore had stood up to announce something tournament-related.<p>

Dorea listened to the elderly wizard with barely half an ear, though she was intrigued by the Goblet of Fire as it was another ancient artefact and likely far too dangerous to be used in such a trivial manner as it was being put to. Which reminded her: she still hadn't found Hogwarts' Lumber Room, or whatever the room or rooms used to house old, damaged or non-essential items was called. Her best bet would probably be asking the house-elves, as they would know where it was. It would be something to keep her busy with this year, considering that the compulsory Charms curriculum would only last them another fortnight at the most and the Transfiguration curriculum was unlikely to keep them busy past Valentines' Day. A room full of junk would enable her friends to pick out separate projects but still work together, as the sense of community was something she really wanted to preserve.

"Black, do you think Prewetts One and Two will still try to enter?" Rosier asked as people started getting up to leave the Great Hall.

"Yes, but I really doubt they'll succeed, since they're going to try Aging Potions," Dorea said wryly. "I can think of three ways more likely to succeed off the top of my head."

"Oh?" suddenly she had a very interested audience; even the Durmstrang students looked fascinated.

"I'll tell you all _tomorrow_," Dorea said firmly. "I don't want to get in trouble with Professor Snape for giving people _ideas_."

This got a chuckle from her friends, as Snape had taken points off her on no less than three occasions the previous year for that very offence.

"I vill look forvard to tomorrow evening then, Dorea," Victor said cheerfully, patting her on the shoulder just as Professor Karkaroff hurried over to take his students back to their ship.

* * *

><p>Saturday proved highly entertaining, though Dorea missed seeing Fred and George make total fools of themselves due to taking Victor and three of his friends on the promised tour of the castle right after an early breakfast along with Zee, who was fluent enough in German to make intelligent conversation; German was the official teaching language of Durmstrang.<p>

Dorea stuck to the main thoroughfares, pointed out all the trick steps and taught them a spell she had found the previous year which would let them check in advance whether a door, section of wall or staircase was Charmed in any way. As Monika had put her foot through one such trick step just a few minutes before, all four were very grateful to learn the spell. Monika then grumbled for several minutes about Hogwarts resembling 'a Muggle fun-house', which Dorea had to concede was not an inaccurate summation. The four Durmstrang students were however impressed by the portraits, tapestries, statues and suits of armour, as well as the sheer size of the building. They parted ways with Dorea after lunch, at which point the fourteen-year-old dragged Dee, Trey and Zee outside to investigate the Abraxans.

After an hour spent doting on the elephant-sized winged horses and having them dote right back, Dorea then headed over to the house-sized powder-blue carriage with the Beauxbatons crest on the doors in the hope that there would be someone willing to make polite conversation. She was not immediately successful despite her impeccable French getting her a curious audience, but two of the girls knew her cousin Morgane and agreed to meet Dorea and her friends on the coming Sunday. Dorea suspected they would show up for the opportunity to speak French to someone other than the dozen others they would be sharing quarters with for the coming year as much as anything else.

Having done her bit to socialise and encourage inter-school unity, Dorea went to spar in the Slytherin Large Duelling Hall against Rence for an hour or so. Rence favoured a defensive style in strong contrast to Dorea's more offensive one and he was more experienced, so he still beat her more often than not. She was getting better though: he had to work harder for victory now.

When dinner-time came around the Durmstrang students sat at the Slytherin table again and joined in with the rest of the snakes in trying to wheedle out of Dorea ways to fool the Goblet. Dorea eventually relented over dessert, as by that point there was no way anyone else could put their name in.

"First is the option of simply bribing an older student to put your name in," she pointed out, "which I'm sure any of you older ones would have had no trouble doing for our two redheaded mischief-makers, if only to see what they'd do next." This got a laugh. "Second, the Age Line was drawn on the stone floor so a broom to fly over the goblet would have worked perfectly well." This got a lot of groans and people hitting themselves for not thinking of it, which Dorea smirked at. "Thirdly, Enchanting the paper with your name on to fly into the Goblet."

"Would that have worked?" Draco asked curiously.

"I actually tested that last one with a blank piece of paper," Dorea admitted sheepishly; her curiosity had gotten the better of her there. "It worked."

Victor laughed and laughed, as did his fellow Durmstrang students. One boy was actually pounding his fist on the table in appreciation. "So, Dumbledore's precautions vere not as secure as he vould haff liked," the Bulgarian said with a deep, appreciative chuckle. "It is fortunate for all of us that you did not vish to enter."

Dorea pinked slightly; she wasn't used to getting those kinds of compliments. "I'm only fourteen and I promised my father that I wouldn't place myself in unnecessary peril while at school," she protested weakly.

"Rubbish, Rhea: you've got two OWLs already, are taking another one this year and could take another two at Christmas if you really wanted to," Rence said briskly. "You're brilliant and bloody dangerous in a fight: if you ever actually used lethal spells when we duel you'd wipe the floor with me."

Dorea flushed darker despite her best efforts to keep her emotions in check; puberty was _really_ annoying! Despite Rence no longer making her stomach flip-flop when he smiled, she was still more susceptible to compliments than she would have liked.

"You duel?" One of the other boys in red asked. Dorea seemed to remember his name was Michal Cybulski.

"Quite a few of us Slytherins do," Dawn said, leaning down the table to join in the conversation. "Would any of you fine fellows be interested in an unofficial tournament perhaps? Friendly-like, just to pass the time and so we can get to know each-other?" She smiled charmingly in a way that said that she knew nobody would stop her, not even Professor Snape. Cousin Dawn was Head Girl despite not having ever been prefect and her Seer-like gift for knowing what went on in peoples' heads was enabling her to keep order in Slytherin House with terrifying effectiveness. That she deferred to Dorea anytime the young Black Heiress actually wanted anything meant that this year Dorea had ascended to undisputed Queen of Slytherin, a position she was unlikely to lose in future years due to Rence, Ade, Odile Witt and Ingrid Rosier in sixth-year being friendly with Dorea as well, not to mention happy to let her take the lead despite her youth. That Dorea had singlehandedly 'reformed' the Weasley Twins into the far more bearable and moderately respectable Prewetts meant the opinionated and forceful older girl was willing to follow rather than lead.

The Durmstrang students all looked rather keen on the idea and offered a chorus of affirmatives, even Victor.

"That's settled then; I'll find us a referee then let you know where we'll be holding it. It'll probably be somewhere private, considering Dumbledore's stance on 'unnecessary violence'." Dawn scoffed slightly in uttering those final words, indicating that she did not share the Headmaster's opinion that duelling was in any way uncivilised. "So I would appreciate your not mentioning it to your headmaster, hm?"

There was something in her face that made it very, very clear that she _would_ know _exactly_ who had tattled if such a thing happened and that said individual would regret it bitterly.

"Very vell," Victor said after a measuring pause, "so long as none of us are seriously injured."

"A caveat I can agree to," Dawn said cheerfully. "I will be in touch." She then turned back to her own conversation.

"Who vas that?" Victor asked Dorea quietly.

"That is my cousin Dawn Woodmore, who is also the Head Girl," Dorea said equally quietly. "She has a knack for reading people, so don't be surprised if she says something she shouldn't know anything about."

Victor was not the only person to look concerned, but at that moment the plates vanished and Dumbledore got to his feet, distracting him and most of the rest of the table.

Dorea however ducked her head and stared into space, quietly pondering the Runes and structure of the Enchantments on the Goblet of fire, Runes and Enchantments that had been the _real _reason for her borrowing Draco's broom at three o'clock in the morning –without permission– for a short flight in the Entrance Hall. They had been very simple, very well-entrenched, completely illegal –had they not been over five centuries old– and… twisted. Somebody had bent the Enchantments ever so slightly, narrowing down the selection criteria. It had been done recently and wouldn't last for very long –Dorea gave them another six hours at most– but would hold through the selection process. She wasn't sure who had done it, as it could so easily be an extra precaution against underage students entering, but her instincts had firmly and baselessly asserted that Not-Moody was responsible.

"The Champion for Durmstrang will be Victor Krum!"

Dorea quickly joined in the applause as Victor got to his feet and slouched up towards Dumbledore before turning off into a small side-chamber.

"The Champion for Beauxbatons is Arséne Galet!" A slim, auburn-haired boy rose from the Ravenclaw table to follow in Victor's footsteps; Dorea noticed that most of the other Beauxbatons girls at the table looked extremely disgruntled; two even burst into tears.

"The Hogwarts champion is Roger Davies!" Dorea blinked in shock as a few seats to her right Tracy squealed in glee:

"My brother is Hogwarts champion!"

The ceremony over, all the students were dismissed back to their common rooms –for the Hogwarts students– or their respective residences –for the visitors. Dorea caught Trey's sleeve as they left the Great Hall.

"D'you want us to help your brother?"

Tracy hesitated. "Yes, please," she eventually said decisively. "I don't want him to die, which has happened in past tournaments, so he needs to have every possible advantage, no matter how underhanded."

"Right." Dorea decided it was time to put her well-practiced scrying skills to practical use. "Blaise, want to help me do a spot of blatant cheating?"

The Italian looked gleeful. "When do we start?"


	34. Chapter 34

Beta'd by the diligent InsaneScriptist.

* * *

><p><strong>Of dragons and almost fatal accidents <strong>

Exactly one week after Roger Davies was proclaimed Hogwarts' champion, a bit less than two weeks before the first task was due to take place, Dorea asked Padma if she could get Roger to come over to the classroom on the fourth floor that was the unofficial headquarters of the study group, as they had some information he would probably be interested in. Dorea then headed up that way herself, Zee carrying their scrying notes and Dee reassuring Trey that of course they'd help her brother, knowing that the rest of her core group of friends and allies would soon be joining them. Said group now included Susan, Hannah, Ernie and Justin from Hufflepuff and Terry and Anthony from Ravenclaw as well as Neville, Roger and Pavarti from Gryffindor. Sally-Anne, Fay and Lavender were in the top tier of the next group down and quite happy to stay there, as the extra work required for the main group was more than they could be bothered with. Sally-Anne did stop by sometimes though, as she was interested in learning to use Soulfire. Lisa Turpin and Mandy Brocklehurst were also in the top tier of the lower group, but in their case it was due to both ravens being more interested in subjects other than Charms and Transfiguration.

By the time Padma, Hermione and Roger Davies arrived everybody else had already paired off to practice non-verbal shielding, with the people testing the shields doing their best to use non-verbal spells as well. The insistence on non-verbal magic was a direct result of Dorea's personal definition of what meant to master a spell differing from the professors' version: she believed a truly mastered spell could be done wordlessly and preferably wandlessly as well. Of course none of her friends knew about the 'wandless' bit, but they'd noticed her tendency to practice wordlessly in second year and joined in. That wordless magic was NEWT level was something nobody in the group really believed, as it wasn't all that hard provided you learned right off not to rely on the incantation. Neville was actually very good at wordless magic, mostly because he still stuttered when overly nervous and it was easier for him to say nothing at all. That most transfiguration spells were also wordless had helped get it into everybody's heads that actually speaking a spell aloud was unnecessary.

Trey's big brother looked rather intrigued by what was going on, but did come right over to where Dorea and Trey herself were waiting with a stack of notes, a few books open at useful points, Zee sitting on the floor nearly hunched over a silver dish and scribbling on a piece of paper.

"Hello Dorea," Roger said amiably. "Padma said something about you knowing what the task was and Trey mentioned the other day that you were doing some snooping on my behalf." Roger didn't bother to even pretend he disapproved: he knew Dorea pretty well and doted on his little sister whenever he wasn't teasing her, and he was clearly interested in what they'd come up with.

"The first task is going to involve dragons," Dorea said flatly after putting up a basic Privacy Charm. "Nesting mother dragons at that. It will also involve golden eggs, so I suspect you will have to steal one of said shiny metal eggs from the nesting mother's clutch."

Roger winced, paling dramatically. "Merlin, that's… thank-you for warning me," he managed to say.

"I like Trey cheerful and carefree, so be sure I'm going to give you all the help I can to keep her like that," Dorea said firmly. "There are three different dragons: a Swedish Short-Snout, a Chinese Fireball and a Hungarian Horntail. You'll need to tailor a strategy for each breed, as they are all very different in temperament, strengths and weaknesses. I advise _against_ the Conjunctivitis Curse, by the way: blinding a dragon will only make if thrash around and behave erratically. You're better off going for a distraction, some kind of area effect or extremely effective camouflage. You could even attempt to Charm the egg from a distance, which may possibly work but shouldn't be relied on." She paused, glancing down at the extensive notes she and Zee had taken over the past four days as they had scried the dragons' progress across Continental Europe and the paperwork carried by the Handlers and Ministry Officials involved.

"The dragons should get here about a week before the task date, so you should be able to sneak out and see them for yourself in that time. They'll be kept around the back of the Forbidden Forest; we've drawn a map." She handed the sketch over, along with sketches of the three dragons and a short biography of each specific individual. Locating the Dragon Reserve's records and copying the details had been very easy once they knew what they wanted. Well, very easy for Dorea: Blaise still wasn't as capable as she was, despite being a natural at water scrying. Given time and dedication to practice he was likely to surpass her.

Roger accepted the papers. "I won't ask, okay?" He said, his attempt at a smile looking rather sickly. "Thanks again Rhea; I think I'll go do some research." He bowed briefly but sincerely and hurried out of the room. Next to Dorea Trey heaved a shaky sigh.

"Rhea? D'you think…"

"Your brother will be fine," Dorea said firmly, turning to hug her friend. "He's clever, strong and practical, so now he knows what's needed he can prepare himself for every possible contingency. Don't worry."

* * *

><p>As the date of the first task drew closer Dorea and her friends had to spend more and more time reassuring Trey that everything would be alright. Dorea didn't blame her friend for not believing them; after all, <em>dragons<em>. All dragons were dangerous no matter their size and nesting mothers were about as dangerous as dragons could get. However four days before the task Roger crashed their study session to hug his little sister, tell her he had plans for every contingency and bow to Dorea, saying that if House Black ever needed the assistance of House Davies then aid would be offered without hesitation. Dorea had accepted politely, then teasingly ordered the older boy to make a good showing on Hogwarts' behalf. Roger had grinned, saluted then left again.

The next few days went much more smoothly, as Trey had recovered her nerve and Dorea had started asking her friends what they wanted to fill their study time with once they finished the compulsory curriculum. Hermione was all for continuing into the NEWT material, until she discovered that silent casting took up a large part of said curriculum in all the wand-based subjects and had to sit down. Zee then quietly suggested they investigate more specialised or advanced subjects like Elemental Magic, Enchanting, Alchemy… or Soul Magic. Dee had suggested Spellcrafting and Ritual, Trey had voiced an interest in Healing and Luna had mentioned Illusions. Despite being in the year below most of her friends, Luna worked very hard to keep up with them on the academic front and was petitioning to be allowed to take her OWLS early so she could graduate with Dorea's year.

This had made it very clear that there was no way they could cover everything, so Dorea had suggested that they pick one thing to all do together, then everybody pick _one_ other subject that interested them and they all do their own thing together after the joint study time. That way everyone could get outside opinions if they got stuck, do joint projects if they wanted to and so on. This had gone down very well until Hannah pointed out that they'd need a permanent, secure study area for long-term projects, which they didn't have. Dorea had rather rashly promised to solve that problem by the time they needed one, which was three weeks away. Well, two weeks technically, but Dorea had planned a party to celebrate their finishing of the Charms OWL syllabus and the house-elves were already working out a menu. Admittedly most of what was on that menu was cake, but it was still a serious business.

Dorea's plan for a study area involved her now moderately fluent skills in Parselmagic –Professor Sinistra had incidentally been ecstatic to learn of the planetarium's existence and all Astronomy lessons were now taken at a civilised hour– and some kind of keying system so her friends could get in. She didn't want there to be any _obvious_ connection to snake speech, so perhaps a charm or bracelet that would react to the spell on the door of the proposed workroom? Dorea would have to find a suitable room first, of course, but that would be easy. Hogwarts was more than half empty after all; closer to three-quarters abandoned in fact. She just had to pick out a room in an area of sufficiently low traffic that a door that no longer opened would not be commented upon. Somewhere like the East Wing on the sixth floor, as there were no classrooms in that area. Most people avoided it due to the chill that always whipped down the main corridor and the unpredictably mobile trick steps of the three staircases, the combination of which made it also very unpopular for romantic assignations. Dorea had actually figured out the trip step pattern: it had to do with prime numbers, the day of the lunar month and the number of that month in relation to the spring equinox. Rowena Ravenclaw had clearly been _very_ bored when she designed that part of the system and that the second staircase was Parsel-locked and therefore inaccessible had made puzzling out the key impossible for anybody else in the building.

Looking for an appropriate venue reminded her that she still hadn't found Hogwarts' Lumber Room, or indeed any room containing lost, forgotten, outdated or discarded items. Such things would not be thrown away –house-elves _never_ threw things away without express permission unless they were perishable and had gone rotten– so they had to be around somewhere. In her explorations of the castle Dorea had found many empty rooms, deserted corridors and forgotten statuary but very little furniture or any of the usual detritus that piled up around inhabited buildings. No dropped quills, no broken ink bottles, no damaged desks, no cracked telescopes. All that junk had to have gone _somewhere_, but Dorea couldn't find it. She might soon admit defeat and ask the house-elves, but she hadn't reached that point yet.

* * *

><p>When the day of the first task dawned Dorea was utterly disgusted to discover that they'd have to go through an entire normal morning of lessons before it was time to go and watch her friend's brother and his fellow champions outwit a dragon apiece. How were they supposed to concentrate? Trey was having terrible trouble just sitting still, but at least it was a Charms lesson and she knew the material inside out. After Charms came fifth-year Runes, so Dorea had to leave Trey in Dee's capable hands as her house-mates went for Astronomy. Dorea was glad to be shot of Astronomy despite the glowing reports of the planetarium and how it could be programmed to show every conjunction that had ever taken place in the past thousand years and more; she knew what the room was capable and all the material already. She knew a lot of the Runes material too, but Professor Babbling at least let her do advanced study projects in class and only called on her if nobody else could answer a question. Dorea really enjoyed Runes and was looking forward to taking her OWL come the summer.<p>

Then it was lunchtime, when Trey had to be coaxed into eating, and not long after they were streaming outside and walking around the edge of the Forbidden Forest to the massive, recently-constructed arena that was invisible from the castle. Zee and Rence had hurried ahead to get seats for the entire study group to it together in, as they all felt they had a stake and had made it clear they wanted to support Trey. Dorea just hoped there would be no nasty surprises and passed the time waiting for everyone to sit down analysing the Wards on the stands. They were good, but wouldn't stand up to sustained assault. Doubtless since the dragons in question were nesting the Warders did not expect them to wander far from their eggs, but that was not a wise assumption.

Her instincts were twitching uneasily –though that might be the entire situation that was bothering her– so she palmed her wand and passed the time going over the Heavy Shield Charm, the Russian Blizzard Charm and similar potentially useful spells in her head. Better safe than sorry or, as Not-Moody put it, 'constant vigilance!'

Dorea had made tea with Not-Moody a monthly event; on her last visit she had talked about the responsibilities involved in running an estate and the challenges faced when trying to invest money profitably; things the real Moody likely would have had no patience for but Not-Moody was a good listener and encouraging in a gruff way. He had been vaguely sympathetic to the frustration she felt in trying to convince men five times her age that she could make sensible decisions and was not a simpering weakling to be patted on the head and sent to play with her dolls, encouraging her to take advantage of their dismissal and turning it to profit her. As he pointed out, your enemies' carelessness was to your benefit.

She still didn't know who Not-Moody was or his agenda at Hogwarts, but so far all he had done was give genuinely engaging lessons –barring the whole 'let's Imperiuse the students' nonsense where Dorea's Occlumency had proved its worth– needle Professor Snape and insinuate himself into the forces responsible for the security of the tournament. While he certainly had an agenda and probably was not to be trusted, Dorea knew he bore no ill-will to any of the champions or indeed any of the students at all. He detested all of his colleagues no matter how well he hid it and positively _loathed_ Karkaroff, but Dorea didn't see how that was her business. He was the Defence teacher and he was teaching most effectively; beyond that his intentions were Dumbledore's problem.

Dorea stopped pondering the exact nature of her Defence teacher's identity as an unconscious Swedish Short-Snout was dragged into the arena by the handlers, a few more handlers following behind with their arms full of eggs. Once both eggs and dragon were set down in the very centre of the space the handlers revived it, then hurriedly fled as the massive, glittering blue creature stirred sluggishly. It wasn't even chained in place; the organisers clearly expected the dragons' maternal instincts to prevent them from going on a rampage. The organisers had clearly been stupid and stingy in their precautions, making dangerous accidents rather more likely than minor ones.

Then Ludo Bagman dashed up onto the judges panel on the side of the stadium above the champions' tent and shortly afterwards Victor Krum emerged into the arena. There was instantly massive applause; Dorea also clapped. Hopefully this would not all end in tears. Sadly the way her instincts were humming suggested that tears were almost certain; the combination of dangerous creatures and overly arrogant handling made it rather inevitable.

It nearly all went wrong right at the start: Krum used the Conjunctivitis Curse on the Short-Snout, making it howl in pain and hop erratically around the middle of the stadium with its wings flapping madly, crushing two eggs and snorting bursts of boiling fire all over the place. One of them clipped the Durmstrang champion as he dodged the rampaging dragon and tried to get closer to the nest, forcing him to pause and cast a spell on himself before grabbing the golden egg. Krum then fled the arena with his prize, barely managing to avoid being trodden on and ducking another blast of fire.

Dorea felt for the poor dragon and hoped that none of the other eggs had been damaged. What were the organisers thinking, using _real_ dragon eggs like that? It was criminal! She said as much as the handlers stunned the suffering creature and dragged both it and its eggs away. The other dragons would be able to smell the remains of the crushed eggs on the ground, which would make them edgier and more aggressive.

Krum then returned to the arena to be given his score; Karkaroff gave him a ten, but the other judges all took off points. Probably for the damaged eggs and the rampage: if the stands hadn't been Warded they would have caught fire and several people would have been barbecued.

* * *

><p>The next dragon dragged onto the field was the Chinese Fireball, probably the smartest dragon as well as the most sociable. It also had the most diffuse breath attack, being a mushroom cloud of burning air rather than a lance of flame.<p>

Roger then emerged from the Champions' entrance and Dorea leaned forward. She was interested in what he'd managed to come up with.

Roger did much, much better than Krum had: He started with conjuring a lot of water, then several very large eagles. The eagles then flew around the dragon's head, attacking and dodging as it snapped and snarled. Roger then Disillusioned himself as the Fireball tried to drive off the offending birds, vanishing completely from sight. By the time all the conjured birds were dealt with the golden egg had wobbled into the air and was floating away above the puddle, probably being carried by Roger if the small splashes were any indication. The dragon then noticed the floating egg and launched a mushroom cloud of fire and superheated air in its direction. It hit the water with a hiss like oil on a hot pan, forming a massive cloud of steam that cloaked the arena floor.

Once the steam had cleared Roger was visible again clutching the egg to his chest, skin looking rather red but otherwise intact. The dragon stared at him for a moment and then lost interest as the Hogwarts champion left the arena with the golden egg.

Dorea cheered loudly: he'd done far better than Krum!

* * *

><p>The last dragon on the field was the Hungarian Horntail; Dorea felt rather bad for the French champion. The auburn-haired boy seemed rather sorry for himself too, if his trembling was any indication.<p>

Galet started well enough, conjuring a thick chilly fog clearly intended to make the dragon sluggish. The fog was cunningly laced with scents too: Dorea could smell pine trees, moss, wet grass, rabbits and most importantly nothing to suggest human presence. There was a long, tense silence as everyone in the arena held their breath to see if it would work –not that anyone could see anything– but then there was a furious reptilian scream, a flash of fire and the fog quickly cleared to reveal the unfortunate champion fleeing across the arena, egg tucked under one arm with the dragon chasing after him.

He was running the wrong way too, at right-angles to the arena exit, right towards the section of seating that Dorea and her friends were halfway up. Seeing the Horntail take a deep breath, its yellow eyes narrowed and tail swishing furiously, Dorea realised abruptly that the Wards were unlikely to hold much longer.

"Shields!" she bellowed over the screams of the crowd.

Most of her friends heard her; that was all that saved them as fire tore through the flimsy Wards and washed over the stands, followed by a strafing crunch of the dragon's tail crushing the wood at the front like cardboard. The dragon instantly lost interest to pursue the French champion who was now fleeing in the right direction, parallel to the stands and ducking under the dragon's spiked tail as it lashed out at him. Dorea ignored the dragon in favour of conjuring water over the fires that had broken out all around them, casting Pain-Numbing Charms on those who had been burnt and trying to hustle screaming, panicking students towards the exits before the stands collapsed completely.

She was mostly successful: when the wooden construction groaned in a terminal fashion and dumped everyone still standing on blackened boards onto the rocky ground below, only fifty or so people were left groaning and coughing amongst the wreckage. The dragon was thankfully not a problem, having been stunned the instant the French champion was out of the arena. However judging by the whimpers made by certain of the blackened, sodden and unsteady students around her, quite a few people had damaged themselves. Or their wands, she corrected herself as she saw Neville totter to his feet, staring in horror at the snapped-off stub in his hand.

"Grandmother's going to _kill_ me!" he whimpered, eyes wide in his scratched and sooty face.

"Nev, Sally-Anne's broken something!" Roger Malone called out from a few yards away, distracting his friend from his predicament and sending the sandy-blond Gryffindor hurrying off to help his year-mate. Dorea set about chivvying her shocked, bruised and bleeding friends and other fellow students out from under the partially demolished stands, as it wouldn't do to have them fall down on top of them. As it was the bits still standing were creaking ominously.

Dorea rather hoped that the next task would be a bit less exciting. Such a dramatic and easily-avoided accident was not the best way to start an international event, but hopefully the next tasks would be better managed. The press were certainly going to have a field day and Dumbledore and the Ministry were going to be the ones targeted.


	35. Chapter 35

Beta'd by the adorable InsaneScriptist.

To those reviewers persisting in asking about pairings: Tsuna is currently five to Dorea's fourteen and Reborn is cursed into a two-year-old body and probably somewhere in his mid-to-late thirties. How are either of those appropriate love interests for a teenage girl?

* * *

><p><strong>Of formalwear and forebodings<strong>

Dorea had found out about the Yule Ball while scrying for details of the first task, so she already had many, many plans in motion by the time her friends found out the week following the whole dragon fiasco. Dee, Trey and Hermione were not exactly _amused_ when Dorea told them she'd known about this for nearly a month already and had actually ordered them new dress robes for the event, but they let it go because, well, free dress robes.

Hermione had been less impressed that Dee or Trey, but Dorea had bribed her with the promise of Family jewellery and a book on Magical Law, which distracted the Muggleborn ward of House Black very nicely. Zee, Theo, Rence and Draco were all a bit baffled by Dorea's insistence on buying them new dress robes, but none of them really cared and helped her gang up on the Weasley twins so they'd realise it wasn't charity or anything stupid like that but Dorea's somewhat irrational urge to get everyone to match. Luna was happy to be dressed up as she hadn't really expected to be invited anyway, Padma was bemused but going along with Dorea anyway and her Hufflepuff and Gryffindor friends agreed to let Dorea foot the bill for new outfits out of simple curiosity. Neville was the only one to object, but agreed to match the scheme once Dorea explained what she was up to.

She wound up buying dress robes for Ginny as well, since Neville had asked the youngest Weasley to accompany him to the ball. Ginny had joined the lower study group near the end of her first year and since then become a truly terrifying duellist. She was not well-rounded enough to make it into the upper study group and a lot of her time was taken up by Quidditch –she was the new Gryffindor seeker and pretty good at it too– but she was learning about Soulfire with her elder brothers' assistance and seemed to have a knack for it. In fact, Ginny could draw out more of it that her twin brothers, which resulted in a few destructive accidents before she got the flames under control.

The Yule Ball was made interesting by George asking Hermione to go with him and discovering she'd already agreed to go with someone else, which made him alarmingly temperamental for several hours before he got over himself and asked Luna, who agreed cheerfully since she was otherwise lacking a partner and wouldn't have been able to attend unless invited. Draco had actually gone down on his knees and begged Dee to save him from Pansy, which she had agreed to after a long pause just to make him squirm.

Dorea herself was going with Zee, who had asked her to go with him as friends so as to save him from the romantic machinations of the other girls. Theo asked Trey, who agreed blushingly, and Rence eventually asked Deborah, with the caveat that they were going just as friends so they both had someone to dance with. Rence knew Deborah had a 'thing' going with the recently-graduated Audric and didn't want to die yet, thank-you very much. Audric had achieved his swordsmanship Mastery before graduating in the summer and was off doing something for his family, probably something that was dubiously legal and taking place abroad.

Fred was going with Katie Bell of Gryffindor, Padma was going with Terry Boot, Sally-Anne was going with a fifth-year Hufflepuff, Lavender with Seamus Finnegan, Fay with Dean Thomas and Pavarti with Roger the Gryffindor, as opposed to Roger the Ravenclaw, Trey's brother and Hogwarts' champion, who had somehow got Dorea's Cousin Stephanie to agree to go with him. Dorea didn't know if they were friends or if this was a sign of something more, but it was still an interesting development and Trey was cheering him on for a number of reasons, mainly because Stephanie was both very pretty and very clever.

The 'buying new robes for everyone' thing was yet another thing Dorea was doing purely on instinct, but it was no less important for that. She was making sure everyone had robes that looked stunning, were easy to move –or even fight– in and were treated with an alchemical solution that made them flameproof: Soulfire-proof, specifically. The colour of the robes was selected to match the primary Flame affinity of each of her friends, though of course she was making sure the colours were shown tastefully since they were not universally flattering. Hair and skin colours had to be taken into account, after all. She was also ordering the robes a bit large, so that they could be magically fitted and later taken out again, to allow for growth. Alchemically treating fabrics like silk was a chore and a half and she wanted her efforts to still be wearable a few years down the line.

It would have been nice if there was someone other than herself wearing orange though, and the level of care required to find a shade of red that wouldn't clash horribly with Ginny's hair was almost more effort that it was worth. Her own dress at least was a deliberately muted and darkened shade of burnt orange, so as not to clash with Blaise's blue robes.

* * *

><p>The Yule Ball was a smashing success, but Dorea found it rather tame compared to the various balls she had attended in the past and her own various birthday parties. What <em>did<em> please her however was how thrilled all her friends were by their outfits. Lots of pictures were taken, Hermione looked _stunning_ dancing with Krum in a Black tiara studded with amethysts and Zee was amusing enough company to make up for the small orchestra leaving the stage half-way through the evening. The Weird Sisters did not interest Dorea in the slightest, so she and several friends escaped the party to hole up in one of the larger music rooms for some more dancing and a bit of singing.

The Charmed Muggle radio Dorea had brought with her on her first year at Hogwarts had started a bit of a craze for Muggle music among her friends. Her cousins had taken advantage of this and bought large numbers of vinyl records and a very good quality player to Hogwarts in her second year, so rather than listen to a Wizarding rip-off band in the Great Hall, Dorea and her friends danced and sang along to Sting, Dire Straits, Bonnie Tyler, various more recent Britpop bands like Oasis and Boyzone as well as numerous American hits of the past few years in a wide variety of styles. She especially enjoyed playing along to Meatloaf and Aerosmith.

Dorea, while a very capable pianist and perfectly able to improvise along to the radio, was however not a very good singer which was part of why she'd learned to play an instrument in the first place. Trey on the other hand had a wonderfully lush voice, Dee had a pleasantly ethereal soprano and Zee, Theo, Neville and Rence all had very nice voices in a variety of registers. Hermione was tone-deaf, which irritated her but Victor kept her from brooding too much by dancing with her to all the tunes which had a beat that allowed it. As the evening ticked on most of the Beauxbatons students and their dance partners also crashed the party alongside a good number of other Slytherins, but Dorea didn't care. They were all having fun.

Unfortunately despite all their fun on Christmas someone spoiled the experience for them: just three days later the _Daily Prophet_ ran an article on how students at Hogwarts were being 'corrupted' by Muggle Music. Rather ironically they included the names of the bands and quite a few details on the artists being railed against, catching the interest of those students who had not been let in on the Hogwarts underground music scene. As a result the Weasley twins somehow assisted in the procurement of two more gramophones and numerous new records, which were hidden in the House common rooms and widely enjoyed, but Dorea was still irritated that someone had told tales on their little get-together. She didn't think it had been any of the students either: everyone who'd come along had really enjoyed themselves, which meant the spy was probably some stuffy adult who had somehow avoided notice.

As the matter had mostly blown over by mid-January, Dorea set it aside and focused more on her studies and the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that she needed to be taking more than just her Runes OWL come the summer.

* * *

><p>Dorea didn't actually pay much attention to the rumours surrounding the approaching second task, as she was mulling over her OWL issues and trying to work out what was preventing her from actually physically manifesting her Soulfire. She knew she had it, she just couldn't coax it out like her friends were managing to. The book Abraxas had left her seemed to be insinuating that she didn't <em>want<em> it enough, which was frustrating but didn't actually help her. So Dorea set actually learning to use Soulfire aside for a little while in favour of returning to _The Invisible Book of Invisibility_ and a book on Ritual Magic she'd found in her inheritance from Uncle Cygnus. The Rituals book was old, battered and had no title, but it was a goldmine of explicit and very useful information on crafting your own rituals from scratch, something that had long since gone out of fashion in favour of more generic, reliable and widely known rituals.

The third book she was currently reading was another of the volumes inherited from Abraxas, this one a collection of eyewitness accounts of users of 'the Flames of the Will' through recorded history. Most of the more recent users were connected to the Italian Underworld, specifically the Mafia, and there were accounts in the back of the book which had actually been written by Abraxas himself. The Chronicle contained a lot of information that other people would likely kill to keep secret, so whoever the late Lord Malfoy had inherited from had either trusted Abraxas implicitly or had died before being able to destroy it. Dorea actually felt the former was more likely; looking back she suspected Abraxas had been a Soulfire user himself and had seen in her the potential to do likewise. Nothing else explained his last birthday present to her.

* * *

><p>When the day before the second task arrived Dorea was summoned up to the Headmaster's office, where she learned what the task involved.<p>

"So, Headmaster," Dorea said with deliberate clam, "you will be Enchanting a Ward of my House and placing her at the bottom of the Black Lake, in the middle of winter, for a champion to retrieve." As a Ward of House Black and specifically _Dorea's_ Ward, they had to ask her before using Hermione. That they wouldn't have had to ask her parents was part of the reason Dorea felt that the Ward system really needed to make a comeback; Muggleborns had fewer rights than Wizard-borns, though under-age orphans had even less.

"That's right, my dear," Dumbledore said jovially.

"I request that you not refer to me so familiarly, Headmaster," Dorea said quietly but clearly, "as we are not sufficiently well-acquainted to justify it. Will Hermione Black-Granger at any point be in danger of illness, injury or death?"

"Of course not!" Ludo Bagman said earnestly.

Dorea pinned the man with a hard stare and raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Will you so swear to me on your magic, Ludo Bagman?"

"Er–" put on the spot, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports looked rather more nervous that his initial assurances warranted.

"Because if not, I cannot justify such carelessness concerning the wellbeing of a Ward of House Black," Dorea went on with deceptive mildness.

"Perhaps a compromise would be possible, Miss Black?" Dumbledore suggested. "After all, an oath is rather a drastic measure when she might fall prey to minor injury where Mr Bagman cannot prevent it, such as at the hands of the champion tasked with her rescue."

"I consider an oath to be a _minimal_ safety feature, Headmaster," Dorea said coolly, "as it provides incentive to the one swearing it. Hermione is of House Black and we take such things _very_ seriously."

Headmaster Karkaroff looked caught between outrage and approval at her very explicit doubt in the capabilities of the planners to keep her Ward safe and had not yet spoken up beyond informing her that he wanted Hermione to be the hostage Victor would be retrieving. Dorea suspected that he hadn't known the Muggleborn girl was a Ward of House Black and that he'd deliberately selected somebody semi-expendable whose wellbeing wasn't his responsibility. Otherwise he might have chosen somebody else despite Victor rather obvious attachment to Hermione following the Yule Ball.

"Would it perhaps assuage your concerns if the Enchantments were placed by someone in particular?" Dumbledore ventured eventually, following a long pause in which he had gazed at her disappointedly and Dorea had refused to entertain even an inkling of shame. "I could perform them if you preferred?"

"I would prefer them to be cast by Professor Moody," Dorea said calmly, well aware of the insult she was offering the headmaster of her school, "as I know that he has the wellbeing of his students as a primary concern. Following the events of my first two years here I find I do not trust you as much as I would like, Headmaster Dumbledore."

Dumbledore seemed to age before her eyes at this pronouncement. "Very well, Miss Black, if that is your preference I will ask Alastor to do so. Will you be requesting that he swear an oath?"

"Naturally; I also expect to be present at the time that my Ward is enspelled so I can accept his oath in person," Dorea said pleasantly. "Will that be all Headmasters, Mr Bagman?" When none of the three responded she rose to her feet. "Then I shall take my leave. Good evening, gentlemen."

After taking Not-Moody's oath the next morning that Hermione would be spelled against any harm that could feasibly come to her while underwater in the care of the Merfolk and seeing the other girl Enchanted, Dorea went back to her dorm for a book before making her way out to the stands above the lake. In true 'Idiot Wizard' fashion there wouldn't actually be anything to see during this task, so wrapping up warm and having something to read was the only sensible option. Dorea took a German novel she'd been given for Christmas, since she didn't want her extracurricular reading to come to her teachers' attention. Seeing her with a book prompted a large number of her fellow snakes to go back to their dorms and do likewise, the OWL and NEWT students in particular. Seeing so many Slytherins carrying books sent a solid percentage of badgers and ravens in search of reading material as well, which was all the better.

Dorea barely noticed the beginning of the task, so engrossed was she in her reading, and when it ended a little over an hour later she only glanced up for long enough to see how the champions had scored before setting her book aside and leaving the stands. It was cold, windy and unpleasant sitting around outside in Scotland in mid-February and she wasn't going to do it for a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

* * *

><p>It was Easter when Dorea finally wrote to her father, explaining about her ever more insistent instincts and how she wanted to take more than just her Runes OWL come June. Specifically, Dorea intended to take Muggle Studies, Charms and Transfiguration in addition to Ancient Studies and Music. Art was assessed based on the works she had produced, and her Art Professor had already told her that she had a sufficient portfolio to gain an O, should she chose to submit it. Music was performance based and Dorea was confident in her skills, so that at least would be easy. Transfiguration would give her the most difficulties, but she was certain she would pass and that an E was not beyond her skills, though she was unlikely to gain an O. However the urgency she felt was such that Dorea was unwilling to wait the extra year required for a perfect score; an E would be sufficient.<p>

Arithmancy, Herbology and Defence would have to wait, but Dorea was not overly concerned by that. Self-study would get her ahead in the first, the second was more of a recreational activity than anything else and the last was not really a proper subject at all, covering a mishmash of offensive spells, legalities and creatures considered 'dark' rather than being a class on Battle Magic as it was supposed to be. The discreet combat classes held in the Slytherin Duelling Halls and occasionally the Hogwarts Armoury were closer to the original class the founders had instated than the current Defence course.

Dorea explained her intentions to her friends in the study hall on the sixth floor she'd appropriated and Charmed against intruders. Parselmagic was highly effective in guarding locations, as well as in medicine, fertility magic and truly unpleasant curses. Each of her friends had a charm that let them in to the East Wing in conjunction with their own specific Soulfire affinity, which was as effective a precaution against theft as Dorea could manage. Despite her extra studies, some spells were still beyond her.

Neville, Susan, Hannah and Ernie had been the most difficult to crate charms for, as unlike the rest of her friends their Soulfire was attuned to Earth rather than Sky. Most Soulfire –if people had it at all– was Ethereal, in that it held the qualities of the air. It blended slightly towards fire at one end and heavily towards water at the other, but air was what all seven types had in common. Earth-natured Soulfire was much rarer, with a subdued fire leaning at one end of the spectrum and a moderate water one at the other. It was also denser, harsher and harder to call into motion. Dorea was heavily orientated towards pure Air, placing her in the middle of the Sky spectrum with an affinity for Harmony. This meant she could theoretically sublimate her own Soulfire to match any of the other types, but making her charms resonate with the heavier Earth flames took a great deal of effort as it was. That she couldn't hold onto her flames for more than a few seconds at a time was beyond frustrating.

Dorea suspected that being Earth-natured also had effects on a person's magic: those of her friends with Earth-type Soulfire were not very good at all at the simpler Charms requiring little power and fine control, but were coming into their own as the magic they were being taught required greater power and slightly less finesse. There was also a general trend towards being skilled in Herbology, leading Dorea to wonder if Helga Hufflepuff had been an Earth-orientated Soulfire adept.

Hermione couldn't understand why Dorea would want to take her OWLs before she was really ready for them, but agreed to help her study nonetheless. Dee, Trey and Zee were all supportive, Theo wanted to know if she was thinking of skipping fifth year altogether and Luna just agreed that Dorea could easily get enough OWLs this year to not have to return to Hogwarts come the following Autumn. This raised a bit of an outcry, but it died down quickly when Sally-Anne shared that following her OWLs her parents would be marrying her off to Gabriel Truman, who had graduated from Hufflepuff at the end of their second year. Sally-Anne would not be sitting her NEWTs unless her husband paid for a private tutor –which he probably would considering he was a badger– and even then her studies would come second to the children she was expected to provide.

Padma then explained to an outraged Hermione that it was rather normal for girls of lower-ranking Magical families to drop out after their OWLs, as in many cases they had only been admitted to Hogwarts in order to find a decent husband and integrate into the upper classes a bit. Lily Moon in Ravenclaw was another such, as was Megan Jones, and there were many more such girls in the years below them. Dee then stepped in to explain firmly that the parents of these girls wanted the best for them, but the Wizarding World did not offer many jobs for women beyond being governess, nursery maid, seamstress, shop assistant, secretary or researcher, none of which were really 'respectable' for the noble yet only moderately wealthy. Large, established and affluent families could afford to let the womenfolk of the main branch do as they pleased –the Blacks being an excellent example– but otherwise personal freedom was only available to the working class and the comfortably middle-class lacking in upwardly-mobile aspirations.

Dorea then gently explained to Hermione that the reason the Weasleys had been allowed into Hogwarts was that they were the latest generation of the very noble and upper-crust Prewett family. Their mother Molly Weasley née Prewett was the only one of her siblings to have children –or indeed live long enough to marry– so her children had inherited the 'right' to attend Hogwarts despite their father being a fourth son. Unless they made it big by themselves and could afford to pay the fees, none of the children of the current generation of Weasleys would make it into Hogwarts. Ginny was expected to marry well, but was unlikely to find herself in a marriage contract due to her parents' rather disturbingly lax attitude towards traditions. Not that a contract was a _good_ thing, Dorea hastened to add, but ignorance of tradition would put off a lot of people where Ginny was concerned as it was seen as not respecting the social niceties and ignorance was never attractive, for all that she and her twin brothers had picked up quite a bit over the past year or two.

Hermione then asked what _she_ had to look forward to after Hogwarts, at which point Dorea had to come clean on the whole 'Ward of House Black' thing and what that actually _meant_. In this case, it meant that Hermione could do whatever Dorea sponsored her into doing, since Dorea was the heir of an Ancient and Noble House and people would be tripping over themselves to do her favours. Hermione would only be limited by her own ambitions and Dora's goodwill. Not even Dorea's own father could limit Hermione's choices, because it was Dorea, not Lord Black, who was her sponsor.

The Muggleborn girl looked utterly gobsmacked.

"Taking in Muggleborns as Wards of Houses is a very old tradition," Dorea went on a little nervously, "and rather popular a until few centuries back as it kept the power concentrated in the Ancient Families and brought in new blood without diluting the traditions. However when a lot of families started losing money back at the end of the nineteenth century sponsorship started to dwindle, and the Grindelwald War pretty much put an end to it. I'm hoping that by sponsoring Hermione other families will take up the practice again, as it ensured that Muggleborns were properly educated and supported within our culture and got the positions their education made them suited for."

Hermione's eyes shone with unshed tears as she lunged at Dorea, hugging the taller girl around the neck. "Thank-you, Dorea," she hiccupped, "_thank-you_. I'm going to go into Law. That way I can sort through all the old, forgotten legislation floating around and make the system more comprehensible so things actually _work_."

Dorea patted her friend on the back. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," she said sincerely. "Would you like me to find you more books on Law?"

Hermione pulled back, wiping her face with a handkerchief. "Yes please," she sniffed. "I am going to ensure the legal system is clear enough that people _can't_ wriggle out of their responsibilities!"

Dorea honestly couldn't wait to see what kind of chaos Hermione threw up in her wake. It was bound to be massively entertaining.


	36. Chapter 36

Beta'd by the admirable InsaneScriptist.

* * *

><p><strong>Of discoveries and dying will <strong>

Studying for the OWLs her father has agreed to let her take, keeping up her recreational reading, sparring and trying to access her Soulfire did not take up _all_ of Dorea's time: she was still looking for the Hogwarts Lumber Room after all so time was set aside to that in addition to her other responsibilities. She was fairly certain it would be in the upper reaches of the castle, because the best place to store things you did not need right now was well out from underfoot. Hogwarts was built at the very end of the tenth century, but it wasn't built all at once: her books had told her that much.

There had been three major construction phases, two before and one after Slytherin left. The first phase had built the Great Hall, the basement and the first three floors of the main castle, not including the windows which were a much later addition. The original windows had been much smaller. The second phase had added in the extended dungeon levels, the outer courtyards, most of the towers including those for the dormitories and the fourth to sixth floors of the main building. The seventh floor had only existed as a flat stone roof edged with battlements.

The third phase had been what turned Hogwarts from a fortified military outpost where children were taught into a proper school, and it had been almost entirely Rowena Ravenclaw's work, largely because she had been the only founder still in residence at that time. Well, the only founder still _officially_ in residence. A proper roof had been put over the top storey, covered walkways had been added in between buildings for ease of access, the Main Staircase had been installed and dozens of extra passageways had been put in. The passageways made fortifying the castle interior against invaders practically impossible, since you could get everywhere and anywhere within five minutes if you knew all the secret ways, but it did turn what had been a military installation into an educational establishment. The trick steps, moving stairs and unreliable doors were Rowena's response to the reduced security, but they would not help against an enemy who knew the building. Then again, Hogwarts had originally been fortified to protect the students from Muggles, not other wizards.

There had of course been multiple later building regimes, such as the one that put the massive gothic windows in during the fourteenth century and the most recent in the late eighteenth century, when the plumbing system and bathrooms were installed. However it was the original third construction phase that interested Dorea, as installing a roof meant having an attic and attics were a traditional location for storage. The seventh floor had later been turned into a proper school level with ceilings rather than just exposed rafters, but it was still technically the attic. Hence Dorea ambling along a seventh floor corridor, thinking about where a room for things no longer in use might be in between taking note of the tapestries.

It was as she was walking past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy for the third time that Dorea saw a door that had not been there before. Pausing, she approached it and tried the handle. It opened easily and her instincts did not seem to suggest she was in danger, so Dorea walked inside.

It took her a moment to compose herself: she had found what she was looking for! It was also much, much larger than she'd expected, so multiple trips would likely be necessary to properly evaluate its contents. For one it was easily the size of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and for another the entire space was divided up into corridors by the piles and piles of junk that stretched out like stacks in a library, higher than she could reach and further than she could see. Looking around curiously at badly damaged furniture, books of all ages and states of disrepair, cauldrons, decaying clothing and a wide variety of banned items like Fanged Frisbees, some of which were still hovering half-heartedly above the walls of forgotten possessions.

Deciding to explore methodically, Dorea produced a notebook and quill and started walking down the front of the 'stacks', headed for a wall. As she walked she scribbled down the 'corridors' she passed, noting down particularly distinguishing features as she went. Hopefully the room's interior did not move about much, so mapping it would actually be a worthwhile activity. While she had persuaded Remus and her Papa to teach her the Mapping Charms they'd used for their map, she had not actually created her own full Hogwarts map and instead simply plotted out the various parsel-locked passages.

* * *

><p>She was about halfway down the fourth walkway from the far left when her forehead prickled. Tensing, Dorea set her half-sketched map away in her shoulder bag and closed her eyes, feeling for the source of the disturbance as she tentatively shuffled in various directions. Judging the Horcrux –because there was nothing else it could be– to be at least one stack over to her left, Dorea hurried up to the next junction then back down again to where the feeling was strongest.<p>

It was stronger, but another stack over still. Dorea repeated the manoeuvre, pausing in front of a cupboard that had been badly damaged by someone throwing potion over it. On top of the cupboard was a singularly ugly bust wearing a dusty old wig that had to be at _least_ two hundred and fifty years old. Neatly set upon the wig was a tiara. Actually, a diadem: Ravenclaw's Diadem. It was also the source of the evil her Ward could sense.

Dorea stared hatefully at the horrid thing, her mind running around in circles. She had lost Grandpa Arcturus _and_ Great-Auntie to these abominable things, so just pocketing it, hiding it in her trunk and taking it home would inevitably lead to the death of Auntie Lucretia or Uncle Iggy. She could take it down to Baz, but that would destroy it and Dorea was actually rather interested in _studying_ another founder's heirloom. The Cup had proved to have a number of intensely interesting and unique Enchantments on it pertaining to the neutralisation of poisons, all of which Uncle Iggy had documented and was working out how to replicate. The Diadem had supposedly provided wisdom, but Dorea suspected it imbued the wearer with additional senses, like empathy for instance, and possibly something similar to her own peculiarly accurate instincts.

One thing was certain: the soul fragment _had_ to go. Even if it killed her, it _would_ go!

Even as this resolution settled in her mind Dorea felt a prickling in her fingertips and forehead that was entirely different to the angry sting of the Blood Ward: looking down, she glimpsed pale orange flames dancing over her hands.

Soulfire.

Dorea did not even pause to think: she palmed her holly wand with her left hand even as her right reached up to grasp the diadem, yellow-edged orange flame dancing over the relic as she set it on the ground in the confined space between the stacked junk. Dorea then traced the only Exorcism Ward she knew around the tiara, both magic and Soulfire emerging from the gently smoking tip of her wand to burn fiercely on the grey stone.

Taking three careful steps back, Dorea focused her resolve, gritted her teeth and began the identification and unravelling process she had watched her Great-Aunt carry out three Christmases ago. The magic from her wand burned orange rather than pale silver, but Dorea barely had a moment to notice that before the howling, shrieking cloud of black seeped from the diadem like pus from a wound and pushed at her magic in a way that made her stomach roll and her legs tremble. The Ward roared higher, searing yellow across her skin as she narrowed her eyes and pushed back, wand twitching through the patterns of untangling and unravelling.

It hurt. It seared across her skin like nothing she had ever experienced before, burning and sapping her strength and eating away at her mind. Dorea ignored the pain and the loss of faculties, focusing doggedly on the task to hand.

_I will unravel this Horcrux if it is the last thing I do_.

The orange flames burned brighter and more intensely, turning a dark, almost reddish shade as they spiralled out away from her wand tip to fall across the surface of the Diadem. The soul shard screamed, writhing away from the brightness as Dorea continued onward, her instincts now bright and crystal-clear. Her smoking wand danced in her fingertips, the spells imprisoning the soul fragment in the diadem unravelling before her eyes. The shrieking rose higher into a terrible wail, then the Exorcism Ward flared and vanished, taking the soul shard with it.

Dorea stared stupidly at the diadem, then stumbled forwards as her exhaustion hit her all at once. As she fell forwards her wand disintegrated in her hand, the wood melting away to ash and sliding through her fingers. The phoenix feather that had been at the wand's core floating in the air for a moment, a fiery streak of red and gold above her orange-wreathed hand, then dropped down onto her skin.

If unravelling the Horcrux had hurt, this was worse. It felt like her hand had been cut open and set on fire. She couldn't even scream; a faint wheezing gasp echoed in her ears as she tumbled to the ground and curled up on her side, cradling the injured limb. The orange flames were snuffed out, leaving behind the familiar yellow of the Ward dancing over the livid scarlet burn running over her left hand from the tip of her forefinger to halfway along her forearm.

As the comforting yellow flames receded so did the pain, leaving Dorea trembling and almost hyperventilating in the wake of the experience. Where the burn had been was now a thin, feathery pink scar and she felt as though she'd had all her magic scooped out with a ladle. Hands trembling and feeling unnaturally cold, Dorea clumsily shoved the now Horcrux-free diadem into her bag and stumbled off towards where she knew the exit to be. She'd have to stash her bag at the top of one of the parsel-locked passages so as to prevent anybody taking her prize, but she really, really needed to get to the Hospital Wing before she passed out.

As it happened there was a convenient passageway that ran from the seventh floor to very near the entrance to the hospital wing, so Dorea dropped her bag at the top and stumbled down it, breathing harsh and legs shaking at every step. She had to keep moving; falling over here would result in her never waking up again, she _knew_ it with the same certainly that applied to gravity. If she stopped here nobody would find her before her body was long gone to bones and dust. Putting one foot in front of another down the staircase was quite possibly the most challenging thing she'd ever done, surpassed only by the effort involved in avoiding the trick step four stairs from the bottom of the flight.

Stumbling out from behind a statue, Dorea tripped over the edge of the carpet, swayed drunkenly and staggered towards where she knew Madam Pomphrey was. The doors to the Hospital Wing were right there…

Dorea passed out just as she touched the doors, falling forward through them to land heavily on the floor. She was oblivious to the matron hurrying to her aid, the diagnostic spells cast and the summons sent to Professor Snape; not even the castle collapsing about her ears could have woken her then.

* * *

><p>Neville sat in the Hospital Wing, hands clenched tightly around the book he was trying to read and eyes darting between his current page and the pale, still form of his cousin Rhea lying on the bed next to his chair. He and the rest of the study group had been summoned to the Hospital Wing by professor Snape right after his cousin had been admitted and the Professor had demanded they tell him everything they knew about how Dorea had wound up magically exhausted with most of her sleeves burned off. None of them had said a word about Soulfire of course –it was after all <em>illegal<em> if not technically dark– but every last one of them had a blistering lecture in mind for when their friend and leader woke up again.

They'd all known Dorea was having difficulty calling on her inner flames for more than the smallest of tasks, but it wasn't like she was the only one: Tracy was struggling to call on more than a faint glow, Daphne didn't seem to be able to call hers out at _all_ and Luna had the opposite problem in that her flames kept on springing into life when she wasn't paying attention and muddling her perception of reality. What they were doing was in no way easy for _any_ of them, but they'd all been careful not to push themselves too far.

Except for Dorea, who had clearly overstrained herself and nearly died. Her school uniform was missing half its right sleeve, all of its left sleeve and a portion of the left shoulder, as was the blouse she had been wearing underneath. Her wand was missing –possibly it was with her also-missing schoolbag– and she had a new scar on her left hand that looked much older than was plausible. Her skin, usually so warm, was faintly cool to the touch and with her vibrantly green eyes closed her face looked empty and much younger than usual. It was her hair that bothered Neville though: Dorea usually sported a mop of almost unmanageable curls that she kept tightly braided down her back, leaving just a few bangs to bounce around her face. Those bangs were currently lying almost flat, falling down the pillow in gentle waves and looking much longer than usual.

She had been unconscious for two whole days and the rumours about what had happened to her were getting wilder and wilder. Neville had never really put together the number of people Rhea chatted to on a regular basis, but seeing a solid two-thirds of the school visit her bedside in clumps and groups was rather sobering. Even those who didn't know her personally had detoured past to peer in, though that may have been morbid curiosity rather than genuine concern. The gifts gradually piling up at her bedside were another clue: instead of the usual mountain of sweets there were small, stylish gift boxes of expensive chocolates, a large bunch of flowers in a vase and a neat stack of envelopes that probably contained notecards bearing condolences and well-wishes. There were a few cheery cards and a single box of sugar quills, but they looked slightly out of place among the more subdued and tasteful offerings.

All in all, it was very clear that the people concerned for his cousin were all people who knew her, knew what she liked and had taken pains to find things she would enjoy. Considering how much those chocolates cost, Neville suspected her friends had pooled their sickles in groups of eight or ten so as to be able to buy just one of those elegant little boxes.

Neville briefly glanced from his cousin's face to the headboard, where her owl was perched. According to Madam Pomphrey, Moros had arrived in the Hospital Wing even before Professor Snape and had since refused to leave, the huge and frankly intimidating bird eyeballing all of his mistress' visitors and keeping watch over her stack of correspondence. Fizz, Rhea's snake, had not been with her at the time of the incident, being nearly eight feet long and a bit large to be carried around everywhere nowadays. However the boomslang had spent the past two days hanging over one or other of the Weasley twins, usually George, and looking caught somewhere between concern and exasperation in so far as that was possible for a snake. Currently said twins were being Prewetts One and Two, but that may simply have been due to their snake-sitting and preventing people from connecting George with Jerry Prewett, as it was 'Jerry' who usually had Fizz hanging over him.

Since Fizz was not insisting on guarding his mistress as Moros was, Neville suspected that whatever had happened was properly over, with no loose ends lying around to come back and bite them. However the business of the missing wand _did_ bother him, as his cousin usually kept it in her sleeve. Had she accidentally destroyed it? Some varieties of Soulfire were more destructive than others, as Ginny had proven by accident when she disintegrated half her history textbook beyond all hope of repair.

After the fiasco at the first task Neville had been one of a dozen students in need of a new wand, the purchase of which had been subsidised by the Ministry since the failure of the wards on the stands had been their fault. His new wand worked much better for him that the one he'd inherited from his father ever had and his performance in class had shot up accordingly. His new wand was cherry wood and unicorn hair and it felt much better in his hand than his father's wand ever had.

Neville was drawn from his musing by his cousin stirring slightly. She'd done this several times over the past few days, eyelids flickering as she shifted into a new position, but this time was different: her breathing had changed. Neville quickly set aside his book and leaned forwards.

"Rhea?"

Brilliant green eyes blinked hazily before focusing on him. "Neville?"

Neville glared at his cousin. "What on _Earth_ where you doing that depleted your magic like that? You nearly died! Never do that to me again!"

Dorea's jaw dropped slightly. "Neville?"

"I mean it!" The Longbottom heir stormed on, all of his frustrations at his cousin's secretiveness coming to a boil, "We're your _friends_, Dorea! Your _family_, even! You can _tell_ us things and we'll _support_ you! Always! I don't care _what_ you're getting up to when you sneak off so long as you _never_ do this to me ever again!"

His cousin shuffled slowly into a sitting position, her expression mildly chagrined. "Sorry Neville," she said meekly.

"Does that mean you'll stop hoarding secrets?" He demanded, looking her firmly in the eye.

"Er, yes?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

Dorea's lips twitched feebly. "A statement. I'll tell you everything that's not being kept secret to protect other people, okay? You and those of the others prepared to swear secrecy. I can't tell everyone because not everyone knows how to defend their mind."

Neville decided that was good enough, at least for now. They had after all covered the basics of Occlumency in their study group, mainly in the interests of improving recall, but it had the happy side-effect that they would all notice intruders in their mind. That Dorea considered her secrets too dangerous to share might just have been Black paranoia, but then again it might not. After all, a lot of people _were_ out get her for any number of reasons.

"Fine," he said, "I forgive you then. But Daphne, Blaise and several of the others want to yell at you as well. What in Merlin's name were you thinking Rhea?"

Rhea looked a bit embarrassed. "Neville," she said in tones of mild horror, "I don't think I _was_ thinking!"

Neville blinked, considered this admission of flagrantly Gryffindor behaviour, glanced over at his cousin's expression of abject mortification and burst out laughing.


	37. Chapter 37

Beta'd by the educational Insane Scriptist.

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><p><strong>Of truth and preparation<strong>

Dorea was not allowed to leave the Hospital Wing for another two days, time in which both Madam Pomphrey and Professor Snape attempted to guilt her into telling them what had happened. Well, Madam Pomphrey tried more than once; Professor Snape just glared at her and gave her detention after her initial refusal. Dorea spent the unexpected downtime going over her friends in her head and deciding which ones she trusted with the secrets which had to _remain_ secret and how to tell the secrets which she had kept simply because she didn't think they'd be well received, the true identity of Voldemort being an example of the latter. Telling them flat was out of the picture, but if she worded it just right they'd forget all about her dramatic collapse and Hospital Wing stay, as it would be old news.

By the time she was released from durance vile –ahem– bed rest Dorea had come to a decision. She would tell the combined study-group –all forty or so of them– about the true identity of the Dark Lord and his crimes against magic. That would distract the younger students and the gossips, enabling her to gather her core group of close friends, get their oaths and tell them about her heritage, the unnecessary prophecy and her family's plans for Wizarding Britain. After all, she actually _had_ a plan now.

Her Papa knew something of her plan, as he had recently amended his will to state that Dorea would be permitted to select her own husband and that said husband would have to take on her names in all matters pertaining to British Magical Society. Said husband would be Lord Potter –as the Potters were all about sharing responsibilities– and Consort Black, because Blacks did _not_ share. He would however get an allowance, access to all Black assets and properties and a say in the Family's investments. With a bit of luck Dorea wouldn't need to marry until she was twenty at least, but it was good to be prepared considering that starting from her next birthday proposals would be flying thick and fast. She'd be fifteen and of marriageable age then.

Dorea hoped to find a man she could fall in love with, but if not she was prepared to settle for someone who accepted her and was willing to treat marriage as a working partnership. If it came to it she could always marry Rence, as he still obviously loved her for all that said love was completely platonic and more 'knight to liege-lady' than 'husband to wife'. Blaise was her brother so marrying him would just be _wrong_, never mind that the very _idea_ of marriage gave him the screaming heebie-jeebies. Blaise's aversion was perfectly understandable, considering his mother had been widowed for the sixth time –shortly after Christmas– due to her husband dying of an unexpected allergic reaction to dittany. Draco was far too closely related to consider –plus he didn't see her that way– Theo was too cold and hands-off to be a good father to eventual children and both Weasley Twins had their eye on other girls.

Hopefully Hermione would get over Victor's sincere but not genuinely romantic admiration of her person soon and notice that George was smitten with her. Fred was still dating Katie Bell, but Dorea wasn't sure that would last considering how invested both twins were becoming in her study group and social circle. Katie preferred to have nothing to do with Dorea and was possibly holding a grudge over the whole Prewett business. Katie had not been happy when her Quidditch team-mate had dyed his hair and hidden in Slytherin house, far away from his friends, when the other twin had been Petrified. That Dorea didn't think Katie knew which twin it was who had done so didn't seem to matter; the older girl still resented the Black Heiress for the trust both twins had in her. Dorea didn't really understand the continued resentment, but chalked it up to alien Gryffindor thought processes.

* * *

><p>Blaise wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting when Rhea called together everyone belonging to both study-groups, her relatives and friends in the upper years for an 'explanation'; he certainly hadn't expected a potted history of the Dark Lord. Or, as Blaise decided to refer to him in future, the Dark Idiot. The Zabinis had a long and colourful history that included no small number of Dark Lords and Ladies, but none so stupidly short-sighted as Tom Riddle. The concise explanation of his heritage, upbringing, career and attempt to escape death was all in all somewhat horrifying, especially when Rhea made it clear that Dumbledore could have taken steps to eliminate him before he ever became a problem yet had refused to dirty his hands.<p>

He had to admire his best friend really: she had certainly won the crowd over with her description of the Dark Idiot as 'a Muggle-raised madman with daddy issues, no respect whatsoever for our culture and values' as well as pointing out that he was 'so utterly terrified of dying he broke the most fundamental tenet of our society: the sanctity of the soul'. It was all such juicy gossip, so outrageous that just about everyone forgot to ask what this had to do with Rhea winding up unconscious in the Hospital Wing in favour of hurrying off to write home or tell their friends. His friend had likely planned it that way, something most of her acquaintances wouldn't realise as Rhea was usually rather open and direct about her manipulations.

"So," Blaise asked once only himself, Dee, Trey, Theo, Hermione, Padma, Susan, Hannah, Ernie, Neville, Roger, Sally-Anne, Ginny, Rence, Fred, George and unexpectedly Odile Witt remained in the room along with Dawn, Deborah, Gregory, Stephanie and Leo –as Anthony Black's friends had taken to calling him– who as Rhea's Black relatives could tell when something fishy was going on. Draco had left, no doubt to write to his father. Draco was, according to Dorea, far too Malfoy to notice subtleties in his other relatives and far too dependent on his father's opinions.

"Why is the true and scandalous blood-status and identity of the Dark Idiot relevant to your passing out of magical depletion?"

Rhea closed the door of the Armoury, which had been the only easily accessible room both large enough for this discussion and entirely lacking in portraits. "I mentioned that Riddle had split his soul in the pursuit of immortality; he then put the pieces in Soul Traps, so as to anchor himself to the physical plane. I found one of these Soul Traps in Hogwarts and destroyed it."

"By _yourself_?" Blaise couldn't help the anger that coloured his voice. "_Mio dio_, Rhea, what were you thinking!"

Rhea huffed. "I was thinking that I've already lost two relatives to destroying the damned things and I wasn't going to watch anybody else die!" She retorted sharply, hands clenched into fists.

Ginny gasped. "The diary! It was… I was possessed by a piece of V-v-voldemort's _soul_?" Her elder brothers immediately moved closer and hugged her tightly.

Rhea bowed her head. "Yes," she said quietly, "and I knew it from the moment the Chamber was opened. My family have destroyed four between them, costing me my grandfather and my great-aunt. Now I have destroyed a fifth, meaning there is only one left and then the Dark Lord will be fully mortal. If he is still incorporeal when the last Soul Trap is unravelled he will simply leave this plane, but if he is corporeal he will be mortal and just as killable as everybody else. More so, in fact: being broken in soul will limit him both mentally and magically and makes him incredibly vulnerable to Soulfire."

"You mean to kill him," Dee said quietly.

Rhea lifted her head; Blaise heard several gasps as her eyes glowed with orange fire in the dim room. "House Black has sworn to see him dead for his crimes against the Family," his best friend said in tones of terrifying gentleness. "If it be by my hand, then so be it."

"But why are _you_ so invested?" Odile Witt asked, eyes slightly narrowed. "Your father I could understand; he is after all Lord Black. Why is it your family has given _you_ the necessary knowledge and skills to defeat the Dark Lord?" Odile was one of Rence's fellow sixth-years, Pucey's fellow Slytherin Prefect and both brilliant and secretive without any actual friends. Blaise wasn't quite sure why she was still here, beyond her being far too canny to be distracted by gossip and having a bit of a fixation with knowing what was going on around her.

Rhea paused, turned and _hissed_ at the door, waving her left hand. The scar across it briefly glimmered before fading away again, giving the Italian an inkling as to what might have happened to his friend's still-missing wand.

"Before I tell you that I need secrecy oaths," she said flatly but unapologetically. "Just as a precaution against Legilimency, Veritaserum and other slip-ups, of course."

* * *

><p>"So," George said after oaths had been made and Rhea had meticulously explained everything, "you are secretly the Girl-Who-Lived and the Dark Twit wants you dead for witnessing his undignified demise, never mind that you were a toddler and it was your mother who actually killed him."<p>

"And there is a prophecy that, despite not actually fitting the situation, Dumbledore is convinced pertains to you and Voldy," Fred went on, "so if he finds out about you he will try and push you into facing the Dark Bastard on your own, despite divination being a load of hippogriff shit. Oh, and you're a parselmouth and the real heir of Slytherin as well."

"That about sums it up," Rhea agreed, fingers twitching nervously.

"Right then," George said grimly, "we'll just have to make sure that when the time comes we're ready to back you up. Fred and I will start working on a few more, ah, _offensive_ pranks for personal use in addition to working on the Soulfire. Mist is more a backup skill that directly offensive, but your tactics books all talked about controlling the terrain and we can do that once we know how. We'll brush up our duelling too: can we visit the Slytherin Duelling Halls?"

"Sure," Rence said easily, cutting off Rhea before she could open her mouth. "Just make sure you come as Prewetts, okay? It's a bit late to get you started on weapons but footwork and some hand-to-hand shouldn't be too hard to teach."

"Thanks Rence," Fred said with a smile, tapping his chin with a quill. "You know, having the scope to create _lethal_ pranks is going to be new and rather interesting. I wonder how we can test them."

"I would suggest the Acromantula," George said, "but they've all vanished."

"Basilea ate them," Rhea said casually. "She said they were crunchy and delicious though."

There was a pause.

"Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter," Deborah said repressively, "do you mean to tell me that there _is_ a Basilisk in the school?"

"Currently yes," Rhea admitted meekly, "but I'm trying to find a trunk that opens out wide enough that I can put an Undetectable Extension Charm in it so I can bring her home with me this summer. She doesn't eat much but her options are pretty limited up here."

Trey covered her face with her hands. "And to think I thought the black mamba was bad enough!" she moaned.

"Hey, Baz is a total sweetheart!" Rhea protested. "Perhaps not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but definitely smarter than Goyle. Much less cruel too." Goyle had a worrying sadistic streak that Crabbe lacked altogether.

Blaise chuckled. "Look on the bright side," he offered with a grin, "she's never going to bring home a bigger or more dangerous snake than _this_ one."

"Besides," Rhea said primly, "it's not illegal to own a Basilisk, just to breed them. I checked."

Dee burst out laughing, much to the confusion and surprise of all present. Daphne _never_ laughed like that. In fact, the usually sedate and controlled girl was whooping and rolling on the floor, clutching her ribs. Rhea blinked down at her friend's antics, then looked up to meet Blaise's eyes.

"Zee," she said conversationally, "I think this is a sign of the end."

Blaise honestly couldn't bring himself to disagree.

* * *

><p>As much as Dorea would have liked to focus her efforts on improving her skills with Soulfire and getting used to how the phoenix feather embedded in her hand enhanced and refined her wandless skills, she had slightly less than three months left until she had to take her OWLs and they had priority. Then there was the heavy duelling tournament Dawn organised for the older Slytherins and the Durmstrang students that she had to participate in –the Baron made it compulsory for all the students who took Combat classes– and a few pick-up Quidditch games that Rence coaxed her into joining in with. Dorea discovered that she was actually pretty good on a fast broom despite her distaste for them and proved to have a good eye for Bludgers. She had a good arm too, probably as a result of having to swing a sword around four times a week. Batting Bludgers was unexpectedly soothing, for her at least: those she played against apparently found it nerve-wracking.<p>

However as the exams grew closer she spent more and more time in the Music Room, pouring her worries out into music and practicing the visualisation exercises in _Fluidity of Form_. She had needed to read the entire book three times to properly understand what it was saying, but her Ancient Greek was now better than it had ever been –pronunciation included– and she was beginning to understand how the more outlandish and extreme kinds of self-transfiguration could be achieved without loss of mental faculties.

'Modern' transfiguration, which wasn't really modern at all but firmly grounded in medieval theory, had as a basic rule when a living creature was transfigured into something lacking corresponding senses then the original being would not be aware of anything that happened to it while transfigured. So while a human being transfigured into, say, a ferret –seeing Not-Moody do that to Draco had been rather amusing– would be aware of just about everything due to ferrets and humans both being mammals, a human transfigured into a tree would be blind and deaf to everything until changed back.

The original Greek transfiguration theory and method was drastically different: it held that transfiguration was actually a kind of physical illusion, so a transfigured sentient would always be fully aware of what was happening to them and able to exert a measure of control over themselves regardless of form unless cursed otherwise. Because belief was such an important element of casting magic effectively, the theory a witch or wizard learned actually affected the efficacy of their spells. Dorea, having been taught Classical magical theory by her Great-Aunt before Hogwarts, had a much wider and more flexible view on magic and what was possible than most other British Magicals.

Dorea was nowhere near practiced enough for full-body transfiguration to be possible, but she was getting much better at turning chickens into pot-plants and mice into mugs while keeping them aware of their surroundings. She hadn't attempted Human Transfiguration yet, but she was certain she'd have the skill and confidence for it eventually.

The reason she was pursuing the subject so avidly was that it was her best hope for freeing Remus from the Curse of Lyacon, as his affliction was properly called. He would likely go on transforming into a wolf under the full moon for the rest of his life –there was nothing she could do to change that– but a properly-tuned ritual and an appropriate potion would probably free him from the cannibalistic urges that accompanied the change, as well as the total loss of control. Lycanthropy was technically a Vengeance Curse gone horribly wrong, or depending on your view horribly right, as the original victim certainly deserved what the long-dead caster had done to him. Unfortunately however said caster had been among Lyacon's first victims, so there was no original documentation pertaining to it in existence. Dorea was hoping that by familiarising herself with the same information the creator of the curse had access to, she would be able to break it down and partially neutralise it.

* * *

><p>Dorea did not enjoy sitting her OWLs. Partly due to the stress of so many written exams taken one after another, but mostly because roughly half of the questions in the written tests were based on theory she knew to be incorrect but still had to write about because otherwise the examiners wouldn't give her the marks. Dorea despised misinformation, so being required to regurgitate it made her irritable. On the bright side, she did well enough in her practical tests that even if she barely got Acceptables in the theory she would still get Es overall. She was certain she would do better than that however, despite not being able to debunk the flawed theory because nobody would give her marks for it.<p>

In the end Dorea hadn't been the only member of the study group taking exams early: all of her close friends wound up joining her for the Charms OWL, even Luna. Hermione had decided to take the Muggle Studies OWL as well, claiming it would be 'good practice' so she would know how the exams were laid out for fifth year. Dorea was just glad for the company; despite taking Ancient Runes with the fifth-years, she wasn't really close to any of them except her cousins. Stephanie said they felt threatened by her intelligence, which was a bit dumb in Dorea's opinion but hey, you couldn't have everything.

The Runes OWL turned out to be unexpectedly easy, even with Dorea livening up her practical by doing something much more complicated than was strictly necessary, while Charms was straightforward enough that Dorea was pretty sure she would be getting an O. Muggle Studies was even easier but Ancient Studies was rather more challenging despite Dorea having been allowed to move up a year back in the previous spring. Dorea had to work hard just to finish the exam in the time provided, let alone write down everything she thought was necessary to get the highest possible marks!

Transfiguration however was the hardest of her exams, simply because she had to use the theory she no longer believed to be accurate in order to answer the questions on the written paper. The practical was easier, as she could use her new and more informed view to improve her performance. Fortunately for her nobody had yet noticed that she was using a different wand, but she was sure that sooner or later a professor would spot the change as both the wand length and wood type were different. Dorea was hoping she could explain it away as having lost her wand after her 'accident' and her father having sent her a Family wand to replace it, but she still wanted to go through the other heirloom wands back at the manor over the summer and pick out a spare. Having two wands made getting caught in misbehaviour much less likely, as she could offer up her 'official' wand for Priori Incantatem and use the other one for illicit activities. Being reduced to one wand –despite not needing one at all now even for delicate or accurate work– was rather unnerving.

Her Music OWL was actually rather pleasant: she was let into a specially Warded room with a piano, given a piece of music then left alone for an hour to practice it before the examiners came in to listen to her perform it. She had two tasks: first she had to play the piece through as it was written, then for extra marks she could embellish it. Dorea did both and was congratulated on her performance afterwards by the examiners, who assured her she would be getting an O for her efforts.

Her Art OWL required no work at all, as she had already done it: all the pieces painted by this year's OWL students were hung in one of Hogwarts halls for everyone to see and the examiners had to mark each painting individually. The paintings did not have names next to them, just numbers, and after all the scores were completed the marks would be averaged for each student's paintings to give them a final grade. Dorea knew she wouldn't be getting her marks back until the last week of July, but she was fairly confident that she had done well.

However Hermione was being distressingly irrational about her performance, which took a bit of straightening out. She was a Ward of House Black, she would do brilliantly and wailing and stressing like she was doing happened to be both unbecoming and foolish!


	38. Chapter 38

Beta'd by the precious InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of abduction and ritual depravity <strong>

To be perfectly honest, Dorea wasn't really interested in the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. Her OWLs were over and done with, she'd succeeded in doing rather well in the Potions NEWT Professor Snape had forced her to sit as 'punishment' for not telling him how she'd injured herself, her instincts had subsided from grim urgency to a dull background murmur and she had finally found a trunk in the junk room on the seventh floor –which the house-elves called the Come and Go Room– that could be modified to open out wide enough for Basilea to fit inside it. All in all, Dorea was quite happy to spend the last two weeks of school lazing around, experimenting with her enhanced wandless skills and increasing her control over her Soulfire, but unfortunately attending the Triwizard Tournament had been made compulsory so she had no choice.

Whingeing about the situation would be unladylike, so instead Dorea made sure she had her wand and three knives stashed on her person, wrapped Fizz around her upper body and picked out a book in Indian myths written in Hindi so she could at least get a bit of language practice in. As the day's weather was actually rather warm she saw no point in wearing her cloak, so she left the castle with Dee, Zee, Trey, Hermione, Padma and Theo and walked up towards the Quiddich pitch, where Rence was saving them seats. The sixth-year had complained bitterly about the horrific damage being done to the Quidditch pitch by the hedges that had been growing on it for the past month and had been seen plotting with the Prewetts; Dorea suspected Bagman would be getting heavily pranked for his misdemeanour. Even after Bagman left Hogwarts he might not be safe, as the twins would certainly have no issues with breaking into the Ministry.

Dorea was actually hoping that she could slip away halfway through the task, as then the teachers would all be distracted and she could levitate her trunk up to the come and Go Room and load it up with some of the less damaged books and interesting contraband she had found there in her various visits. Dee and Zee were sticking closer to her than ever, as was Rence, but they were just as fascinated by the junk-filled space as she was and had been helping. They had already recovered a large number of books –half of them currently illegal, some stupidly rare– numerous weapons, two wands and a large number of jinxed, hexed, cursed or otherwise enchanted items. Zee was also rather fascinated by the stuffed troll and intended to take it home with him, if only to shock his mother. Considering her best friend's most recent letter from his mother included the news that she had 'met someone', Dorea didn't really blame him. Dorea was certain that Zee would try to avoid at all costs the eventual wedding mania that was sure to follow, since as he grew older he found himself liking such things less and less.

"Rhea?" she glanced over at Theo, who had a book of his own tucked under one arm. Since her revelation about Voldemort he had been sticking a bit more closely to her group of friends, to the point that maybe she'd be able to call him a friend in a few months rather than just an acquaintance.

"Yes Theo?"

"Can I visit you again during the summer?" The lanky, brown-haired boy asked quietly, not meeting her eyes.

Dorea considered what she knew of Theo personally, what she'd picked up about his home-life from listening to gossip and the fact that he'd been among the first to swear the Secrecy Oath in the Armoury. "Of course; House Black would be pleased to host Heir Nott," she said lightly.

Theo's feet nearly stumbled as his head shot up so he could look her in the eye, his own muddy green eyes painfully hopeful. Dorea hadn't really noticed it before, but Theo was all tied up inside and terribly afraid of people not liking him, which might explain why he'd never really made any friends. She suspected it was his Death Eater father's fault and hoped he would be able to escape following in said parent's footsteps.

That Dorea would be of marriageable age come the summer would certainly persuade Theo's father to allow his heir to visit Black Manor; she'd noticed that all the older purebloods were a bunch of gossipy old women where 'respectable alliances' were concerned. At least Zee's mother wasn't pushing him into that kind of thing, but she really was the only one. All of Dorea's other age-mates had received multiple letters from home encouraging them to 'befriend' certain others, be those others their own age, older or younger. Dorea was certain she was on the list of every matchmaking mama with a son in Slytherin, age be damned!

"If you ever even just need to get away, we'd be happy to have you," she added quietly as they ascended the stands. Theo's eyes darted over at her briefly and his shoulders lost a little of their tension.

"Thanks Rhea."

* * *

><p>After about half an hour of staring at hedges and not being able to see anything Dorea decided that enough was enough. Sighing quietly she closed her book and handed it to Zee, got to her feet and moved along the stand towards the exit.<p>

"Rhea?" Hermione's voice floated to her ears over the chattering of conversations around her.

"I won't be long," Dorea said, deliberately deceiving her friends into thinking she was taking a quick trip to the loo. She had no intention of being gone for very long at all, but she really did want a little peace and quiet so she was going to go for a short walk. Not too far, so she'd hear the cheering when someone finally won and be able to return, but a change of pace nonetheless. Fizz hissed approvingly at her from insider her collar; he didn't like crowds either.

Leaving the stands she took a deep breath and smiled, enjoying the cool breeze and warm sunshine as in front of her the school grounds stretched out, completely empty of people as the evening sun slid down towards the horizon.

"What're you doing out here, Black?"

Dorea turned to smile at Not-Moody. "Taking a breather; it's terribly boring you know, sitting up there and staring at hedges. The organisers could have made a bit more of an effort to turn this into a spectacle."

Not-Moody chuckled. "Got a point there, lass. Don't go too far, and remember–"

"–Constant vigilance!" Dorea finished cheerfully, wand twirling between her fingers as she set off towards the Forbidden Forest.

Her restful stroll lasted for nearly twenty minutes, at which point the rise in noise-level from the Quidditch pitch told her it was time to return. Just as she was approaching the stands again her instincts roused themselves, prompting her to duck as a beam of red light –a Stunner– shot over her head. Turning around and drawing her wand, Dorea faced her attacker.

It was Not-Moody.

"So who are you anyway?" Dorea asked curiously, wand not wavering in its aim at his centre of mass. "Beyond a truly excellent teacher, a trustworthy confidant and a highly competent potioneer that is." Polyjuice wasn't easy to brew and Not-Moody had been drinking it all year; that showed both incredible skill and immense dedication. Some parts of the brewing required precise timing and intricate preparation, which Not-Moody would have needed to juggle with teaching, marking and patrolling the school.

Not-Moody grinned at her; on the ex-auror's scarred face the expression was rather terrifying. "Oh, you're a smart one aren't you, Black? I am sorry about this; it isn't personal you understand, but my Master requires your presence at his rebirth."

"Death Eater," Dorea sighed, feeling inexplicably disappointed. "You do realise that I'm not going to just hand over my wand and come quietly, don't you?"

The grin on Not-Moody's face widened. "Wouldn't have it any other way, cousin."

Being called 'cousin' was truly a surprise, so much so that Dorea fumbled her wand and was completely vulnerable when her opponent's wordless Curse hit her full in the chest. Dorea stumbled, her mind abruptly feeling as though it was made of cotton wool. What was she doing again? She barely resisted as a hand gripped her upper arm and a hooking sensation caught her stomach, whirling her away.

* * *

><p>By the time her brains recovered from being rattled by clever use of the Confundus Charm Dorea had been tied to a funeral monument by Not-Moody, whose identity she still hadn't quite unravelled as there was no <em>way<em> he could _possibly_ be Bellatrix and she couldn't think of any other living cousins who were Death Eaters. Cousins-by-marriage possibly –he might be a Rosier or a Gamp– but no actual cousins by blood. Unless he was a Burke? Great-Great-Aunt Belvina had married a Burke and had two sons and a daughter, so it was possible he was descended from that side of the family.

Though Voldemort's Inner Circle was rather elevated and rarefied company, Dorea was rather certain he had more supporters than that. To trust a minor minion to infiltrate Hogwarts for him seemed rather out of character for the Dark Lord though. Maybe he hadn't been able to _find_ anyone else?

The sudden fiery rush from her Ward snapped her attention back to her surroundings: some distance away from her current position was the French Champion Arséne Galet, his pale blue duelling robes torn and blood-spattered and his face white with fury. He was tightly bound to another tombstone and struggling furiously, spitting swearwords at the cowering house-elf clutching a ragged bundle to its chest and at the masked, robed figure that was probably Not-Moody.

Not-Moody was lighting a fire under a cauldron less than ten feet away from the French teen, but Dorea was more interested in how her Ward was telling her that Voldy the almost-soulless was in fact in two distinct pieces, both within sensing range. One was undoubtedly the bundle being held by the wretched, trembling house-elf, but the other was moving freely around the perimeter of the area she and Galet were at the edges of.

Fizz poked his head out of her collar and tasted the air.

"_A snake is circling, mistress; a wretched abomination of a misshapen worm it is too. Not even smart enough to realise it has been enslaved."_ Fizz then retreated back inside her school robes, no doubt using her body heat to camouflage his presence so that a surprise attack would be more effective.

Dorea watched as Not-Moody stepped back, well away from the cauldron and the house-elf moved closer, trembling even more obviously.

"It is ready Master," Not-Moody said, making Dorea blink at the change in how he sounded. Clearly the Polyjuice had worn off, so the cloak and mask now hid his true features.

"Now…" The high, cold voice made Dorea's Ward surge higher, golden flames dancing over her skin and singeing the ropes binding her. Sensing an opportunity, Dorea coaxed the golden flames higher, not really caring about the damage being done to her clothing. Since losing her sleeves to her Soulfire awakening she had treated all her school uniforms and underwear with the alchemical mixture that made fabric resistant to combustion, but her socks and shoes had not been treated and were unlikely to survive. It was a small price to pay for a chance to escape before Riddle managed to pull off the rebirth Not-Moody had mentioned.

The house-elf carefully lowered the thing in its arms into the cauldron, the contents of which was shining like faceted diamonds. Then the little creature scuttled back and Not-Moody stepped forward.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

Dorea blinked; so it was _that_ kind of ritual. She supposed the Dark Lord hadn't had much choice, given how Horcruxes were incompatible with the more efficient methods of physical resurrection. This particular ritual would create a body for a spirit inhabiting a homunculus, but that body would be a magical construct dependent on said spirit's magical power and will. While Voldemort did not lack magical power he would be rather short on will, since Will as a magical component was mostly formed from the soul. Therefore Voldemort's new body would only be capable of using spells grounded in causing destruction, pain and suffering, as that was all the miserly sliver of soul that remained to him could comprehend. Even a simple Levitation Charm might be beyond him.

She really needed to kill his snake and escape before the ritual was completed. Concentrating hard, she willed the Ward flames to intensify under the ropes.

Not-Moody then handed a knife to the house-elf, which raised its trembling voice to speak the next part:

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive y-y-your m-m-m-m-master!"

It had gazed desperately at Not-Moody as it stammered the last word, but the man had not given a single sign or caring. The house-elf then cut off its own left arm at the elbow, sobbing as it did so, then gave the limb to Not-Moody who tossed it into the cauldron after the bit of bone that had been summoned from the grave to which Galet was tied.

Dorea was actually grudgingly impressed by the use of a house-elf in such a ritual: house-elves had a powerful magic of their own that was wholly bound up in serving their masters, so its flesh would provide Voldemort with an innate power that would otherwise be beyond his reach, considering the tattered state of his soul.

Not-Moody then approached the furious, spitting French champion, knife drawn and a silver bowl in his other hand. The redhead swore colourfully and spat in the Death Eater's masked face; Dorea really had to wonder what kind of family history Galet had to hate Voldemort's followers quite that vehemently.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"

Dorea did not look away as Not-Moody slit the older boy's throat; she would bear witness to this atrocity and carry the story back to Madame Maxine, so that Galet's parents would know their son had died defying the Dark Lord with his final breath. She continued watching until Not-Moody tipped the blood into the cauldron and its contents flared bright white, blinding her.

At this point the ropes binding her gave way so Dorea quickly set about putting as much distance between herself and the frothing cauldron as she could, picking the direction that also led away from the Horcrux-snake. Unfortunately she'd barely managed to go a dozen yards when the maimed house-elf appeared next to her with a crack.

"Winky is not letting M-m-miss Black leave," the still-bleeding little creature gasped, "M-m-miss Black is n-n-not to leave until N-n-new M-m-m-master says so."

Dorea felt herself hoisted into the air but did not struggle, instead using magic to slide one of her knives from its sheath and into her hand. Of her three knives only one was poisoned, since only a goblin-forged blade could hold poison indefinitely and the Family didn't actually have many of those left anymore. However since that blade was tainted with Basilisk venom, Dorea knew she barely needed to scratch her captor to kill it. Her. Winky was a female elf.

The cauldron at that moment erupted a cloud of steam, obscuring everything. Dorea would have stabbed the house-elf but Winky wasn't standing close enough for it to be worth attempting, so she bided her time. Being dumped back on the ground by the monument she had originally been tied to was rather undignified, but Dorea was more concerned about her continued survival right now. Her instincts were lying low, suggesting that for now she just had to sit tight and go with the flow.

Having a poisoned blade in one hand and not needing a wand to cast magic with the other made it rather easier to stay still than might otherwise have been the case.

Through the steam Dorea could just about see a skeletally thin silhouette standing by the cauldron.

"Robe me," came that high, cruel voice again. Dorea found herself pondering whether those high tones meant that the Dark Lord was a eunuch; considering what he'd done to his soul, it was entirely possible he didn't see the loss of his masculinity and reproductive capacity as all that relevant. He had been no more than a wraith for well over a decade so any form might be seen as an improvement over possessing animals and the occasional person. As the steam cleared Dorea got her first look at the new body Voldemort inhabited.

It was as pale as a grub that had never seen sunlight, spindly as a spider and its face lacked both hair and a nose. Eyes were scarlet from edge to edge, inhuman and slit-pupilled. The black robe it wore only exacerbated its inhumanity. All in all, Dorea felt that Voldemort looked far too much like a cartoon villain such as those she had seen on television while visiting her cousins.

However disgusting and cliché Dorea found the Dark Lord's new body, the man himself seemed quite delighted by it, considering the way he was admiring his hands. He then drew his wand and Dorea realised belatedly that she was probably supposed to be scared. The thing was, she wasn't. It might have been the golden flames that now enshrouded her completely or the knowledge that she was armed and dangerous, but the fact remained that she did not fear the abomination standing across the graveyard from her.

She did not consider him her enemy either: enemies were respected. Voldemort was simply an obstacle, a cowardly fool with no understanding of the true nature of power. Him and Dumbledore both, now that she thought about it, meaning that for her plans for the reformation of Magical Britain to go ahead, both men had to go. Dorea rather doubted either would be willing to retire gracefully though. Death would be the only way to get rid of them; a true permanent death.

The Dark Lord finally stopped admiring himself and turned to the masked Not-Moody. "My most faithful servant," he said quietly, his voice holding a sibilant undertone, "hold out your arm."

Not-Moody silently did so and the Dark Lord pulled back his sleeve to reveal a Dark Mark, the tattoo livid red against pale skin.

"It is back," Voldemort said softly, "they will all have noticed it… and know we shall see… now we shall know…"

He pressed a finger against the tattoo.

Dorea's Ward shivered, the golden flames wrapped around her intensifying and casting light all around her, illuminating the graveyard as though she were standing at the heart of a bonfire. Not-Moody swayed where he stood and as the Dark Lord released his arm Dorea saw that the mark on his arm had turned jet black.

Dorea had read of such marks in the old, dusty books in the Black Library: they were Thrall marks, slave brands by any other name. A person marked by one owned nothing except on their master's sufferance, not even their own bodies. The Blacks had used them extensively at various points in history, but since the Statute of Secrecy there had been fewer opportunities for them. Both her father and Grandpa had likely known this, as they had cast Bellatrix out of the family as swiftly as possible. Since she was no longer a Black, Voldemort had no claim on the Black monies and heirlooms through her.

Of course, that she had allowed herself to be enslaved was cause for disinheritance all by itself: Blacks bowed to _no-one_ except their own Head of House, and he or she only bowed to a rightful king. England hadn't had a rightful king for over five hundred years, not since Richard of York had been slain, so it had been a long time since any bowing had taken place.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" The Dark Lord whispered, turning to face Dorea. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

Dorea noticed that he kept a good distance away from her; good. He likely had no idea that she could harness the Ward offensively and had no intention of enlightening him to that fact. Well, she might risk it if his snake came close enough for her to destroy it, but not otherwise.

"The Frenchman who so generously participated in my revival stands upon the remains of my late father," the Dark Lord said conversationally, his voice a low hiss. "A Muggle and a fool… very like your dear mother." Not true; Dorea's mother had been a witch at the very least and had slain Voldemort with her own magic and cunning. However Dorea saw no point in interrupting when the Dark Lord was in a chatty mood.

"But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child… and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death…" He laughed, then turned around to pace the open space in the midst of the graves. The snake finally emerged from the darkness to slither along beside him, keeping far away from Dorea. The house-elf was standing the closest to her and the unfortunate creature was leaning heavily against a tombstone, gasping its last. Clearly now that its part in the resurrection was complete both men had completely lost interest in it. They hadn't bothered to stop the blood spilling from the wound so the poor unfortunate was dying of blood loss.

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? Or should I call you Black? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in the village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was… he didn't like magic, my father…"

Dorea had to call on all her Occlumency training not to snort. How very sanitised and romanticised. Voldemort's mother had been a borderline squib, not a properly trained witch, and had ensnared his father with a love potion. Grandpa and Uncle Iggy had been very thorough in collecting evidence, not that Dorea was surprised that the Dark Lord was delusional. As Papa had said, Voldemort had major daddy issues.

"He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Black, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage… but I vowed to find him… I revenged myself upon him, the fool who gave me his name… _Tom Riddle_…" He continued his pacing.

More evidence of delusions: since his father had never even seen him before Riddle murdered the older man, it could only be his mother who had named him. That she had chosen to name him after his father was unfortunate, but in no way said Muggle's fault. Dorea kept her face as smooth and superior as though this were a society ball and Voldemort an overly familiar personage she could not politely be rid of.

"Listen to me, reliving family history…" he said quietly, eyes darting over to where Not-Moody was still standing by the cauldron like a puppet awaiting his next orders. "Why, I am growing quite sentimental… But look, little Rose! My _true_ family returns…"

Voldemort considered his thralls, his _slaves_ to be family, despite his treating them as less than nothing? Dorea had known intellectually that the Dark Lord had no understanding of emotional attachment and love, but to hear that his perception of family was so skewed made her feel slightly sick. She would have felt sorry for him had it not been abundantly clear that the only way to free him from his delusions was to put him out of his misery.

All around her came the sound of Apparating wizards and swishing cloaks. They were all hooded and masked, like in the old newspaper photographs, and approached cautiously in a half-circle that had Dorea at one end and the Dark Lord at its centre. Dorea had a feeling that the masked man standing closest to her was Malfoy; she had been absent from Hogwarts for well over half an hour and had been away from her friends for another twenty-five minutes on top of that; Dee and Zee would definitely have noticed she was missing by now. Both knew about her emergency mirror, so they might well have contacted her father over it. Considering Papa was not remotely subtle or patient where her safety was concerned, it was possible that Uncle Lucius had already been shaken down by an irate Lord Black over her abduction.

Dorea noticed the gaps in the half-circle as the Death Eaters spread out to form a ring, guessing that Voldemort had a very _specific_ expectation of how they were to stand and who went where. The gaps would be for the dead and imprisoned.

Dorea tried not to think about how many of her friends and school-mates' parents were standing around her. That was a direction it was better not to go in. She barely noticed that Not-Moody had not joined the ranks around Voldemort until she realised that he had moved to stand near her, barely four feet from the edge of the Soulfire dancing fiercely around her. Under her bare feet the ground was scorched black and she was rather certain that the parchment and quills in her pockets had long since been reduced to ash; it was a good thing that she'd left her book behind with Zee.

Her instincts were gradually rising as time passed, warning her that the longer she stayed here the less likely it would be that she would be able to return. She still didn't know why Voldemort wanted her here to witness all this pointless theatrics –why she was present at all was obvious: he wanted to kill her– and suspected that he had a sinister plan in mind. He wouldn't be killing her himself, as if he'd researched Blood Wards at all he'd know that any attempt would end exactly like the last one, which meant he was going to order one of his minions to do it. It would probably be Not-Moody or Lucius, as they knew her best of those present. If Snape was here –which Dorea rather doubted– Voldemort would have him do it, but he wasn't and Dorea was glad for that. She also rather hoped she could get away without killing anyone, as the Ministry rather frowned on murder no matter your motivation.

It was with only half a mind that she picked up on and remembered the names that Voldemort uttered every now and then as he examined his servants: Avery, Lucius Malfoy, the absent Lestranges, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott. Dorea had to wonder if he'd deliberately chosen those whom she knew the children or younger relatives of; there was a Heinrich Macnair in the same year as the Carrow twins and the seventh year prefect in her first year at Hogwarts had been a Lestrange.

Voldemort then started talking about 'my most faithful servant', making all the others in the circle twitch. Dorea then realised that none of them had noticed Not-Moody, standing as he was in the shadow of a funeral monument cast by the Soulfire raging around her.

"…and it was through his efforts that both our young friends arrived tonight…"

"Yes," the Dark Lord went on, his lipless mouth curling in a cruel grin, "Rose Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party; one might go so far as to call her the guest of honour. Or should I call you Dorea Black?"

Dorea straightened haughtily and inclined her head. "My name," she said with icy politeness, "is Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter, and I am Heiress to both House Black and House Potter: The former through my father and the latter through my mother, who was blood-adopted into the Potter line in the proper manner." She did not mention the 'Heiress Slytherin' bit, because that would cause a ruckus and mindlessly provoking lunatics was not sensible behaviour.

"Dorea Black then," Voldemort conceded easily, clearly enjoying the show he was putting on.

There was a pause before Lucius Malfoy stepped forward –she couldn't think of him as 'Uncle Lucius' right now– and asked:

"Master, we crave to know… we beg of you to tell us… how you have achieved this… this miracle… how you managed to return to us…"

Dorea personally thought he was laying it on a bit thick, but Voldemort didn't seem to notice.

"Ah, what a story it is, Lucius," the Dark Lord said; "one that begins –and ends– with our young friend here." He gestured at Dorea, who really had to wonder how it looked from the Death Eaters' point of view: her standing in a towering golden inferno, completely unscathed despite the heat radiating off her and the angry, red rune of Sowilo standing out on the pale skin of her forehead.

"You know, of course, that they have called this girl's mother my downfall?" Voldemort said softly, moving slightly closer to her but staying well out of reach of the flickering, dancing flames of the fully active Ward. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill her. Her mother died barring me from her –and did so deliberately, as she had delved into the old Blood Magic that the Ministry had forbidden and created a Ward that would feed upon her death to protect her child. It was foolish of me to overlook such a possibility… such things are old magic and powerful… and as you can see, the defence still holds, against myself at least."

Dorea suddenly had a really _bad_ feeling about why Voldemort had wanted her here. It was true that he wouldn't be able to come within six feet of her without the Ward lashing out at him and any spells cast would be reflected back, but if someone the Ward didn't recognise as an enemy attacked her physically the Ward might not actually react until she was very close to dying. If an enemy struck quickly and decisively, she might be dead before the Ward kicked in. Certainly it would be all over for her if they managed to decapitate her.

Calling on her own Flames would probably be a good idea, but she was well aware that doing so drained her quite a bit as she wasn't used to it. She had Fizz, who would be happy to take out the first attacker, and her poisoned knife, which could take out a second and maybe even a third, but there were nearly two dozen Death Eaters present in the graveyard and she couldn't kill all of them. She didn't want to either; how could she ever explain the situation to Draco and Aunt Cissa if Lucius died at her hand?

Dorea wished miserably that her Papa was here. Certainly if she died here he would go on the warpath and nobody with a Dark Mark would be safe unless he and every last living Black were dead before the Death Eaters were wiped off the face of the Earth, but that was cold comfort. She didn't want to die. If only Baz were here, or a Thestral or a Hippogriff or a Griffon or _something_. Moros would be very welcome too; in fact, any number of Omen Owls would be just the thing right now.

* * *

><p>Voldemort was still addressing his minions, talking about his experience as a wraith and how it proved his 'immortality', which was total garbage because according to Gringotts Tom Marvolo Riddle was dead: Dorea could not have inherited the Slytherin Vault and title were he not. He'd died that night in Godric's Hollow and was now undead, meaning he would have to open a new vault and start putting money in it from scratch. Dorea doubted the Dark Lord would be getting a job though; he seemed the type to mooch off his minions.<p>

Though actually since they'd been his minions, or thralls if she was using the proper terminology, before he died that meant that she had technically 'inherited' them along with the rest of Voldemort's belongings after he died attempting to kill her. His being undead snarled the legal process up a bit, but Dorea could probably fix that in short order. Especially since his Horcrux-snake was now prowling around behind the Death Eaters and coming very close indeed to her position.

"And then, two years ago, it happened at last… a servant returned to me: my most faithful who had been imprisoned all these long years since my downfall and who upon freeing himself immediately sought me out. It took him some time to find me, but find me he did and immediately set about assisting me in regaining a body of my own. But he did more than that: he visited nearby villages to keep track of the news, and while doing so one evening encountered a witch from the British Ministry, Bertha Jorkins, who recognised him. However my most faithful was cunning and did not let her escape, instead bringing her to me so that I might make use of her." Voldemort smiled. "Truly, she proved a veritable mine of information, particularly on the subject of the Triwizard Tournament. What an opportunity that was."

Dorea was now focussing very hard on Moros is particular and Omen Owls in general: she _needed_ as many of them as possible if she was going to get away alive. Omen Owls were stronger than they looked, but it would take two of them to carry her comfortably and at least three more to cover her escape. There were eight living in Black Manor, but Dorea had no idea where she was in relation to said location. More Omen Owls lived wild, but most of them nested in Scandinavia and Russia; hopefully there would be enough of them close by for it to make a difference.

"As for bringing Dorea here, well it was simplicity itself for my most faithful servant to do so from Hogwarts. After all, he had managed to gain Dumbledore's trust and was placed in charge of the security procedures, with access to certain key parts of the Hogwarts Wards. He enacted my wishes efficiently and precisely, without a single error. Would that more of my followers were so diligent."

Voldemort turned to face Dorea properly, a cruel smile on his face. "However I find that little Miss Black is a most unwelcome obstacle in my plans, being the object by which her mother orchestrated my demise. While I will concede that she is no unwitting pawn for Dumbledore, nor truly responsible for my suffering, I will not allow her to continue to thwart me as she does simply by existing. So which of you, my servants, desires the privilege of killing her for me?"


	39. Chapter 39

Beta'd by the harmonious InsaneScriptist.

* * *

><p><strong>Of miraculously timely getaway strategies <strong>

There was a brief silence as the dark Lord's words sank in, but one Death Eater stepped forwards almost instantly.

"My Lord," the masked man said, "I beg of you, grant me this honour."

Several others quickly stepped forward as well, but did not do more than stand up straight and reach eagerly for their wands.

"Very well Macnair, go ahead," Voldemort said, smiling ever so slightly still. "But your wand will be useless, so you will have to resort to brute force."

The other Death Eaters seemed slightly hesitant at that, but the masked Macnair just strode forward eagerly, drawing a long, wide blade like a machete from his robes as he came. Dorea did not move, feeling Fizz shift inside her collar.

"_Leave first blood to me, little mistress,_" the boomslang hissed softly. Dorea dipped her chin in acknowledgement, sliding her feet outwards just enough to place her in a solid, balanced stance. Fizz would be using her as leverage when he struck, so she would need to be well grounded.

Macnair easily entered the outer limits of the snapping, flickering Ward, blade raised high, but when he was still over a metre away Fizz reared out of her collar and struck lighting quick, sinking his fangs deep into the Death Eater's neck before retreating and then lunging again, landing another bite before retreating properly to balance on Dorea's shoulder, body held in the 'S' shape typical to his species.

Boomslang bites were not usually immediately fatal, Dorea knew, but Macnair had already dropped his machete and was clutching at his heavily-bleeding throat, eyes bloodshot and feet unsteady. Dorea then belatedly remembered that the primary characteristic of Sun Flames –such as made up her Blood Ward– was Activation: it seemed that the Ward was exacerbating the snake venom's speed and efficacy. That was something to remember for future confrontations, for safety's sake.

The Death Eater staggered backwards and toppled over, dead. Fizz hissed triumphantly, unwrapping more of his body from under her robes to coil loosely around her shoulders in full view of their audience.

Voldemort was no longer smiling; Dorea was very, very grateful that the Blood Ward protected her from spellfire, because if it hadn't she'd likely be writhing under the Cruciatus curse right now. While clearly delusional, the Dark Lord was at least smart enough not to repeat a showing of the very thing that had got him killed in the first place. Hence his ordering his minions to do away with her in a mundane manner.

"A most unusual pet you have there, Dorea," the Dark Lord said coldly. "I am surprised at your foolhardiness, hiding a venomous snake inside your clothing."

"_Little mistress is not foolish!_" Fizz hissed furiously. "_She is mine to protect, mine to defend! She entrusts her allies to me and knows I will strike down her enemies! She is generous with food and warmth, favours my company and admires my beauty! Mistress is without equal and there is certainly none superior to her!_"

Such an eloquent defence of her better qualities as seen from a reptilian point of view was moderately embarrassing, for all that only Dorea herself and Voldemort understood what Fizz had said.

"_So bold,_" Voldemort hissed in amusement. "_Come here, venomous one._"

"_I refuse to abandon the little mistress! Especially not for a white maggot that stinks of carrion!_" Fizz sassed back, coiling himself over Dorea's right shoulder. Voldemort twitched ever so slightly and Dorea took care not to let it show in face or highly Occluded mind that she had understood the insult.

"It seems that Macnair has failed," the Dark Lord said instead, turning to his followers with an expression of musing disappointment. "However I see that several others are you are keen to prove your worth. Goyle, do strangle her for me."

The massive man lumbered forwards, much taller and broader than Macnair had been but also slower and more ponderous. Dorea stiffened her spine, grimly resigned to causing the death of the father of a school-mate this time rather than just that of the uncle of one.

"I am Heir Black, of House Black," she said in a tone that would carry her words clearly, "those who move against me move against my House and we do not forgive such enemies easily. The self-styled Lord Voldemort has already earned the enmity of my House and as Heir I declare that House Black will see him dead, his property confiscated, his heirlooms seized and his name shamed. Thus House Black declares against the self-styled Lord Voldemort, that those who serve him will know no mercy, those who support him will be struck down and those who stand by and do nothing will be remembered for their cowardice. So I say, so shall it be remembered, so it shall be."

Mr Goyle paused as even he in his inbred weakness sensed the power she had invoked, the Ritual Declaration of Enmity and Feud she had committed to. Every last Black would have felt it, heard it and embraced it or else courted madness in defying it. Every last relative who considered themselves a Black now had a decent idea of her location in relation to theirs as well, which was a perk.

"Kill her!" Voldemort snarled, his chalk-white face a rictus of rage.

Mr Goyle lurched forwards, right into the fangs of Fizz as he leapt right off her to sink his fangs into the massive man's throat again and again, buttery yellow Flames dancing over his scales. The massive man managed to rip the snake away from his neck and toss it away into the darkness, but he was too late to save himself and collapsed, choking on his own blood as he too expired. Fizz was both incredibly fast and highly accurate when attacking.

"Lucius." Voldemort's voice was a low, venomous hiss. Dorea watched as the man who had welcomed her into his home and lavished many expensive gifts on her over the years stepped forwards, masked face slightly bowed and shoulders squared.

"My Lord…" he inquired, "is this truly wise? To needlessly antagonise one of our most Ancient and Noble families… Sirius Black has seen sense since his release from Azkaban and has ceased to support the machinations of Albus Dumbledore in favour of following his family's traditional alignment–"

"Are you defying me, Lucius?" the Dark Lord asked silkily, fingering his wand.

Lucius Malfoy stopped instantly. "No, my Lord," he murmured apologetically, "I am not. I would not. Forgive me my forwardness."

Voldemort inclined his head ever so slightly. "Stop procrastinating and kill the girl, Lucius," he ordered flatly.

Dorea curtsied politely as he paused just out of arm's reach beyond the Soulfire surrounding her. "Lord Malfoy. How fares Aunt Narcissa?" She was a Black and she would make this as painful, embarrassing and difficult for him as possible.

Lucius paused, clearly remembering –as she had intended him to– that his wife was a Black and so was now his enemy by Family Writ. He bowed back with equal respect. "Heiress Black and Potter; she is very well." He drew his wand, easily conjuring a stiletto before putting the wand away again. "How unfortunate that we should meet under such trying circumstances."

Dorea smiled, her own blade imbued with Baz's venom still hidden in her sleeve. "Unfortunate indeed, but promised made and allegiances forged must be kept; without such things the fabric of our society would be torn apart." Which was as far as she was willing to go to tell him she understood his position and to lull him into a false sense of security; killing relatives-by-marriage was not something she had ever wanted to do and she didn't think Lucius had either.

Her words clearly resonated, as Lucius lunged forwards with the conjured dagger in his wand hand. Dorea dodged easily, accidentally trampling the cooling body of the house-elf as she darted away from her attacker and past Not-Moody towards the body of the Triwizard Champion as it hung slackly in its bindings. Dorea drew another knife, this one having a long, clean blade, and allowed her opponent to see it firmly gripped in her own wand-hand. That she was now visibly armed gave Lucius pause, but not for long: he glanced sideways at the Dark Lord then lunged again, trying to trap her against one of the large gravestones.

The other Death Eaters scattered as she moved slightly too close to them for comfort, but they were now shouting encouragement and urging Lucius onwards. Dorea ducked a stab aimed for her neck, slashed open her attacker's arm and danced sideways again, catching a glimpse of gold in the corner of her eye. Half-tripping over an urn and stubbing her bare toes Dorea realised that it was the Triwizard Cup, likely what had brought the late Galet here in the first place. It must have been a Portkey. In fact, it probably was still a Portkey because it was easier to modify the Portkey spell to add in an intermediate destination without attracting attention than it was to change the destination itself; the trophy had probably been intended to bring the Champion out of the maze and before the judges.

It was a potential escape route.

Dorea's proximity to Galet's body was starting to affect it: the ropes binding it were smoking, as were its clothes. Since he had been wearing dragonhide duelling robes they weren't affected much, but the ropes was definitely not going to survive much longer.

She dodged again, forwards this time, dropping down and rolling forwards between Lucius' legs and severing a tendon in the back of his knee on her way past. The man dropped heavily to the ground with a cry of pain.

"Pathetic," Voldemort said grimly. "Crucio!"

Lucius screamed, his entire body spasming under the torture curse until it was lifted. The Dark Lord opened his mouth to speak again but before he could there was a sound from another quarter:

"_Whoooo…_"

"_Whooo… whoooo!_"

"_Whoo!_"

Dorea glanced sideways to see Omen Owls alighting on the gravestones around her, three, four, six, seven, nine of them. A tenth landed on the stone angel right next to where Lucius was lying; the prone man froze, clearly knowing _exactly_ how dangerous the owl perched less than four feet from his face was.

"Owls?" Voldemort scoffed. "Pathetic." He raised his wand.

Two Omen Owls silently lunged at him from separate directions as the half the rest assaulted the Death Eaters with all the terrifying fury that had been bred into them. Dorea ignored the screams and unpleasantly meaty tearing sounds, dashing back to Galet's body and easily slicing through the scorched ropes. She then dragged the corpse towards the trophy, the bright, glittering gold easily visible in the light cast by the Flames surrounding her.

"Stop her!"

A spell bounced off the Ward just past her elbow, then another just shy of her shoulder. Using all the brute strength years of swinging a sword had granted her, Dorea tossed the corpse in her arms at the cup and sighed in relief as it vanished in a flash of blue. Then she turned to survey the scene behind her.

It was carnage. Voldemort had Disapparated, about half of the Death Eaters had successfully escaped as well –for the time being at least as the Owls could easily hunt them down later– but most of the rest were lying on the ground, dismembered, whimpering and bleeding out. Three more were standing back-to-back and trying to curse the Owls but the canny birds were dodging half the spells while the other half had no effect whatsoever. Their defiance was short lived as the birds that had been savaging those on the ground also took to the air and joined the final assault, tearing the Death-Eaters apart between them in a mind-boggling display of brute strength.

An Omen Owl alighted next to her, eyeballing her disapprovingly.

"I apologize sincerely for allowing myself to be abducted," Dorea said contritely, ducking her head. "You have my sincerest thanks for your timely intervention."

The stately bob of the head indicated that her thanks, while welcome, were unnecessary and that those present had been pleased of an opportunity for a spot of extreme violence against enemies of the Family. Her carelessness was also forgiven in light of her repentance and the good sense she had shown in turning to them for assistance in this matter.

"Might I be escorted home?" Dorea asked next, politely and determinedly ignoring the sounds around her of Omen Owls feasting upon their fallen foes. "Papa will be terribly worried." Her Ward had guttered out, the threat from Voldemort no longer being immanent and she was feeling tired and cold.

"_Don't forget me, mistress!_" Fizz piped up, slithering out from behind an urn and coiling his way up her leg. Once her pet was firmly wrapped around her middle Dorea held out her arms and did not flinch as two more Omen Owls swooped down on her, bloodied, dripping claws closing around her upper arms as they easily lifted her up into the air and away into the dark.

* * *

><p>Lucius Malfoy landed in an undignified, sooty heap on the floor of the Drawing Room, his knee a bloody, useless mess, his wand-arm bleeding sluggishly and his nerves singing from having barely evaded the cruel claws of the Black Owl that had lunged at him. Lucius had a long and unfortunate familiarity with the birds used by his wife's family –Arcturus, Cassiopeia and Sirius all used them exclusively– and he knew very well that they were stronger, smarter and far more devious than any owl had any right to be. He would be putting up Owl Wards as soon as he could stand up properly.<p>

"Lucius!" Narcissa pushed open the parlour door then stopped dead as Lucius drew his wand and pointed it at her.

"Get out of the house," he said sharply, "and don't come back."

"Lucius–"

"Out!" Lucius bellowed, wand-hand trembling slightly. He knew the Dark Lord would be most displeased with him for his failure to murder Dorea, but the very least he could do was ensure he bore that displeasure alone. Dorea cared for his son, so she would likely prevent Draco from returning home at all when Hogwarts ended for the summer.

Narcissa vanished in a crack of Apparition and Lucius sagged in relief.

"Dobby!"

"Master calls?" His house-elf was neatly attired in a pillowcase and uninjured; since seeing the condition of the Black elves and hearing Draco natter as a child about how Lord Arcturus Black said that the conditions of one's servants reflected on a person, Lucius had forbidden his own house-elf from punishing itself and ordered it to dress well, eat properly and speak clearly. The subsequent improvement in the quality of service had been highly gratifying.

"Fetch me a blood-replenishing potion," the Lord Malfoy said shortly, dragging himself up into a sitting position and sealing the shallow cut on his arm before pointing his wand at the deep knife-wound behind his right knee. A quiet crack told him Dobby had left so Lucius set about the task of cleaning the injury and knitting his tendons back together.

It would have shocked all of his fellow Death Eaters to learn that well over half the Malfoy Family Magic related to healing; Lucius had in fact been something of a disappointment to his father Abraxas for having so very little aptitude for it. In fact, he had originally been betrothed to Andromeda Black specifically because she had both a talent and a strong inclination towards Healing. Her elopement with the Mudblood Tonks had been a terrible humiliation and incredibly inconsiderate of her: if she hadn't wanted to marry him she could at least have said so to his face! Fortunately however Narcissa had been willing to substitute for her sister and despite her being more socialite than healer, their son Draco had all the natural aptitude Lucius lacked. His father had been delighted and had started training Draco as soon as he was old enough to pay attention for more than ten minutes at a time, which had filled Lucius with both pride and a degree of hurt.

While his fellow purebloods would likely mock his Family Magic as a common, unworthy thing, Lucius knew better. A person versed in Healer's spells who had taken no oaths was a deadly opponent, as the magic used to heal could so easily be twisted to harm and destroy by inches. The Malfoys had built their power and wealth upon their magic and despite his mediocrity in the Healing Arts, Lucius could fix himself up very handily whenever necessary. His father had taught him to never reveal weakness to anyone who was not family and being able to heal one's own person of physical injury was a vital part of that family philosophy.

The soft crack of Dobby returning did not distract Lucius from his delicate work; the elf would set the vial down within reach and leave again. Tendons were finicky things and needed great care and attention to detail to fix properly. Dorea had succeeded in dealing him a crippling but not even slightly fatal injury and he was very, very grateful to her for that mercy, especially when he knew –from Draco's letters – that she always kept at least one poisoned knife on her person.

When Dorea had declared war on his master Lucius had been forced to do some very quick thinking. His first realisation was that his wife was a Black, so she would be obliged to act against him or court insanity. Lucius loved his wife and seeing her reduced by inches to crazed, animal viciousness directed and controlled solely by the Lord Black would break him, hence her banishment from the manor.

Secondly, that his son might also be touched by the ritual and that regardless of how this night ended Draco _must not_ come face to face with the Dark Lord. Draco was very Malfoy indeed but he had inherited his mother's bluntness with none of her years of acquired finesse, so his son would only get himself killed.

Lucius' third thought had come to him as the Dark Lord called him forth to slay the Black Heiress and it was that, should he succeed, Sirius Black would utterly destroy Lucius' entire family in vengeance for his daughter's demise. Lucius was well aware of the Dark Lord's crimes against magic –Draco's March letter had been rather disturbingly enlightening on the subject– but he was Marked and therefore trapped in service to a madman. However killing Dorea would drive Sirius Black mad with rage, as the man's entire life was bound up in protecting and supporting his daughter and through her ensuring the continuation of House Black. An irate Sirius Black would be bad enough; a violently furious Lord Black with the magical might and political weight of his Family behind him was an enemy Lucius did not think even his Master could defeat. Calling that down on his own family was not something Lucius was willing to do, hence his procrastination and half-heartedness in attempting murder.

The last time the Blacks had declared war on somebody had been in the eighteenth century following the murder of an heir, and the family responsible had been made entirely extinct within two years of the declaration being made. Blacks did not mess about when it came to exterminating their enemies; instead they were violently, gleefully and excessively thorough.

He was certain Dorea had noticed –she was sadly far more Slytherin than Draco in that respect– and that he was not more severely injured supported that belief. This way even if the Dark Lord killed him for his disobedience the Malfoy line would continue to dominate Magical Society through his son.

His injuries finally healed, Lucius downed the Blood Replenisher the elf had placed at his side, rose stiffly to his feet and headed for the Owlery. First he needed to write to Draco so that he would know to stay at Black Manor over the summer, then he really _needed_ to adjust the Wards so that only Family owls could get in. The Great Greys the Blacks used had always given him the creeps, but he now had actual evidence to back up his paranoia the urge to keep them far, far away from him had increased dramatically.


	40. Chapter 40

Beta'd by the cherished InsaneScriptist.

I now have a part-time job in addition to college, so my writing time is going to take anosedive while I adjust to working for a living. My buffer of pre-written chapters is also running low, so I will likely be taking a break from updating in about a week so I can build up the buffer again without feeling pressured. Muse is still in fine form, so the show will go on!

* * *

><p><strong>Of tragedy, urgency and commitment<strong>

When Bagman announced that Arséne Galet, the French champion, had won the Triwizard Tournament, Blaise noticed that Rhea had been gone for a while and decided to go looking. When upon getting up he noticed that, contrary to expectations, Galet had _not_ been Portkeyed directly to the Minister's Box to be awarded the grand prize, Blaise had given up on manners and started shoving his way through to the nearest exit, Dee, Trey, Rence, Theo and the rest belatedly following after him. The stupid tournament had clearly been sabotaged _again_ –or at least the security had– and his best friend and oath-sister was out there alone.

He had almost fallen down the stairs in his haste but despite moving more quickly than he remembered ever doing outside of combat practice he had barely been in time to see Dorea swaying dizzily, eyes blank and puzzled, as Moody discarded his wooden leg and magical eye before grabbing her and vanishing in the faint flash of blue denoting Portkey travel. Blaise was no fool: it was clear now that Moody hadn't been Moody at all –the genuine article wouldn't have left his prosthetics behind since he couldn't walk without the leg– which meant Rhea had been Confunded and abducted by an impostor.

There had been outcry among the group and confusion over what to do next until Blaise took charge and flatly ordered everyone to shut up and listen. He ordered Trey and Luna to fetch Professor Snape, left Neville and Roger to guard the scene of the crime then ordered Hermione, Padma and Rence to break into the Defence Professor's Office and see if they could find any clues as to the impostor's identity. He then dashed off to the Slytherin dorms with Theo and Dee to find Rhea's emergency mirror so they could tell her father what was going on, because the sooner the Lord Black knew what had happened to his heir the sooner he could raise Cain over the outrage.

Blaise could get into Dorea's trunk because as her oath-brother he had a certain responsibility for her welfare, which meant privileged access to certain parts of her life. He couldn't open the trunk itself, but he had been keyed into one of the outside compartments in case of emergencies. Grabbing the mirror and hurrying back to the common room, Blaise activated it even before he got there.

"Sirius Black!"

There was a pause, then the palm-sized mirror stopped showing the Italian boy's own face and revealed Lord Black's concerned visage.

"Blaise? Is Dorea alright?"

"She's been abducted from the grounds," Blaise said quickly, trying to keep his speech both coherent and in English since unlike his daughter Sirius was not fluent in Italian. "I think Moody was an impostor –possibly from the very beginning of the year– and he grabbed her. The Triwizard Champion is missing too –the French chap won– so I think there's more to this than a random ransom attempt or an inheritance thing."

Usually cheerful grey eyes narrowed alarmingly as Sirius Black's face set in an expression of highly-controlled ire. "Right. Thank-you for telling me this, Zabini; I'll contact Madam Bones and send Ignatius up to Hogwarts to examine the Wards on my behalf. Keep the mirror with you and let me know if anything else comes up."

"Call us if you find her first," Dee said, her tone more demanding than requesting.

"Of course." The mirror blanked out, once again showing only Blaise's reflection.

* * *

><p>The three-quarters of an hour that followed Blaise's hurried call to Lord Black was the longest one of Theo's life; not even Binns' droningly monotonous lectures on goblin rebellions could compare. With every minute that dragged past Daphne's face grew ever stiller and colder, Blaise's eyes ever chillier and his smile more cruel. Professor Snape arrived barely ten minutes later to demand and update, which Daphne provided in three icily concise clipped sentences. Their Head of House then hurried off upstairs to join in with the breakers-and-enterers, leaving Tracy and Luna to join them on the sofas and fidget. Tracy's nerves showed in how her facial expression shifted between rage, terror, hope and impatience and regularly bounding to her feet to pace restlessly across the dimly lit room; Luna sat perfectly still, face uncharacteristically solemn and eyes gazing blankly into space.<p>

What felt like an eternity after Snape had left but was actually barely another fifteen minutes Deborah and It's-Leo-not-Anthony careened into the common room, the former whooping and cackling with such evident malice that it made all the hairs on Theo's arms stand on end.

"Deborah? What–"

"Heiress Black has declared war on the self-styled Lord Voldemort!" Leo burst out, somersaulting over a sofa and landing on his feet with a wild, bloodthirsty grin. "Those who serve him will be shown no mercy, his supporters will be crushed and those who try to claim neutrality will be branded as cowards! We go to war!" The third-year badger whooped in violent, animalistic glee, black eyes gleaming.

Deborah was still laughing like a lunatic, which was so disturbingly uncharacteristic for the usually quiet, mild and raven-like seventh-year that Theo had to wonder if all Blacks were insane and some were just better at hiding it than others.

"So Rhea lives still and her abductor was a Death Eater," Daphne said calmly, smoothing her robes over her knees and folding her hands in her lap. Theo did not trust the calm façade; Daphne possessed a temper as vast, cold and furious as an arctic blizzard. She was simply very picky about whom she vented said temper upon and finding an appropriate moment to do so.

Five minutes later the crazy giggling had died down to the occasional hiccup and Stephanie burst in, dragging Roger Davies behind her. Her eyes were also alight with the same manic energy as the rest of the cadet Blacks but at least she wasn't cackling, or at least wasn't cackling now.

"The Triwizard Cup finally reappeared, but with Galet's body draped over it," she reported breathlessly. "He's had his throat slit and looks a bit singed, but that was all so it definitely wasn't anything in the maze that did him in. The Aurors showed up ten minutes ago and are processing the scene; Madam Bones wouldn't let the Old Bumblebee fob her off with platitudes and tore a strip off him for not calling her himself."

Davies picked up the story from there. "I reached the centre of the maze second so when Arséne showed up dead the Minister tried to give me the prize, claiming that Arséne must have been dying when he found the Cup so he didn't count." Tracy's older brother looked quite furious at such callous dismissal of the facts. It offended his Ravenclaw sensibilities. "I told him right out that Arséne had earned that money and that whatever had killed him had done so _after_ he won the trophy, meaning that he'd died as a result of poor security and that I refused to take the victory away from him. Madam Maxine was still shouting at him when Steph dragged me off." He looked entirely too pleased about that.

The hidden door to the common room opened again, this time to admit Rence, Hermione, Padma and an elderly wizard with hair that had more white than red remaining and wearing trim, practical robes in olive green.

"We found Moody locked in his own trunk!" Hermione blurted out as she stepped inside. "Professor Snape said the impostor must have been using Polyjuice!"

Rence said nothing, which was deeply alarming because Rence was usually the first person to crack a joke or make a dry comment to lower the tension. Glancing at the older boy's face made Theo very nervous indeed, as Rence's habitual small smile was altogether absent, making the sixth-year look uncharacteristically homicidal. Everyone in Slytherin knew that the older boy would have followed Rhea around like a puppy if he'd been able to, but seeing him now made Theo wonder if the younger girl accepted Rence's single-minded devotion out of fondness for him or because she knew how very dangerous he would be without an acceptable outlet for his obsessive tendencies. It was probably both, considering how shamelessly devious Rhea usually was.

* * *

><p>Theo had thought that nothing could match the tension of the time between Dorea vanishing and the dead Triwizard Champion's return; he had been wrong. The hour and a half that followed it was <em>worse<em>. Dumbledore, the barmy old goat, packed them all off to bed claiming curfew was still in effect. It was a stupid move really: it just ensured all the Houses got together to discuss what in Merlin's name was going on. Rence abruptly came back to life as accusations starting flying in the Slytherin Common Room and managed to explain the entire situation from Dorea's abduction –by Barty Crouch Junior apparently– through to her declaring War on the Dark Lord, his minions and associates. Blaise then stepped in to state that, as Rhea's oath-brother, he would be supporting her and her House. Daphne then stood to assert that she too would be following the lead of House Black, which set off a cascade of Pledges and requests for shelter. Many no doubt wished to avoid going home due to the risk of coercion, forced recruitment or other more prosaic difficulties.

By the time the younger students had been packed off to bed Blaise had got the mirror out again, this time to contact Remus in his capacity as Potter Estate Manager to see about housing various students who, having experienced first-hand the peril of going against the Blacks, didn't want to be associated with Death Eater relatives and sympathisers. Some of them also wanted to rescue their mothers, but Blaise had wisely not handed out any promises on that one. As for himself, Theo wasn't going home this summer. Not at all. His father couldn't break into Black Manor to get him and if it came to it Theo would pledge allegiance to Rhea. Going home now would be _stupid_ and that was something Theo _wasn't_. This was his chance, his one shot at getting out from under his father's thumb and even if Dorea wasn't even half as kind as she acted, even if she was twice as manipulative as he'd seen her be, it would _still_ be better than home.

Theo just hoped Dorea wouldn't mind him sticking around permanently, because even if his father died, he wasn't _ever_ going back to Nott Court again. Not if it was the only house left standing in all of Europe.

* * *

><p>Blaise had been lounging on one of the sofas in the common room, quietly discussing logistics, lines of communication and training with Dee, Rence and Dawn when the mirror buzzed. The Italian almost dropped it in his haste to activate the screen and seeing Rhea in the glass he couldn't help what came out of his mouth next:<p>

"You are never going anywhere ever again without an armed escort, do you hear me Rhea! Never again!"

Her soft laughter and sheepish apology were a balm to his soul. Blaise had to recognise then that he was doomed: he'd be following Rhea around for the rest of his life, trying to keep her out of trouble in between enjoying the chaos that sprung up in her wake. She was the little sister he'd never had and always wanted, the leader he'd be following until he died. Never mind that he was the Heir Zabini and would be Prince Zabini when his Nonno eventually kicked the bucket; Rhea was practically a princess by British Ministry standards and princes always followed princesses anyway, if only because princesses inevitably attracted dragons. Though since this was _Rhea_, Blaise suspected she'd wind up marrying the dragon when he showed up. She was unpredictable like that.

Blaise let Dee clamber into his lap so she could see the glass and shifted so Dawn and Rence could look over his shoulders, not wanting to stop drinking in the wonderful sight of his sister looking slightly tired but entirely whole. He let Dawn and Rence explain the whole Pledges business and how she would be hosting at least a dozen kids of various ages plus potential mothers and younger siblings, with Dawn chipping in to warn then that there'd be more oaths coming in from people in other Houses soon enough. Hermione had probably taken a few already, since as Dorea's Ward she could accept Pledges on her sponsor's behalf. Leo, being a Black in his own right, could also accept Alliance Pledges on behalf of the Family; Blaise privately suspected they'd have all of Hufflepuff behind them by the morning. Dorea was popular and very well-liked despite her family's reputation.

* * *

><p>For Rence, the last week of the school year passed in a distant haze. Dorea's encounter with the newly reborn Voldemort and her declaration of War against him occupied his mind in every waking moment, alongside his own indecision about what to do next. What was he going to do? He had another year of school left before he finished his NEWTs –though he was already seventeen– but Dorea probably wouldn't be coming back to school. She had been abducted from Hogwarts once already, by the man who had taught them Defence all year, so her father probably wouldn't let her out of the house. Not that Rence could blame him for that; knowing that Rhea was safe was a large part of what enabled him to sleep at night. She was just such a trouble magnet! Hogwarts had never had so many near-disasters and tragic accidents taking place in it before she showed up.<p>

However if Rhea was at Black Manor while Rence was at school, he wouldn't _know_ whether she was safe or not. He wouldn't be able to check by slipping up the corridor past the girls' dorms and glance through the barely-open door to make sure she was actually in bed like he had been doing at Hogwarts since her first year. Ric had asked him to keep an eye on the girl for him and Rence took that kind of thing seriously; it was in no way creepy or inappropriate at all, no matter what Ingrid had said that time!

He could drop out of Hogwarts, since he was of age, but if he did that, what would he do? He had been interested in the possibility of becoming a jeweller or an Enchanter ever since Dorea had mentioned it, but the Hogwarts Library didn't have much on either subject and he'd read all of it already, even taking extensive notes. What _did_ interest him was Alchemy, as Transmutation seemed to offer a great many benefits since it could incorporate numerous Enchantments, Wards and such-like without needing to bother with all those fiddly Runes, but even including the Restricted Section the Library had a grand total of three books on actually practicing Alchemy and one of them had been on the creation of living chimeras rather than something useful.

The only way he could get hold of enough Alchemy books to determine if the subject held what he was looking for he would have to Pledge Service to one of the Ancient Houses and hope their Family library help the kind of material he was looking for, but then he would have to serve _them_ and wouldn't be able to protect Rhea. It was all so horribly complicated! An apprenticeship would have been just the thing, but there _weren't_ any Alchemists in Britain, hadn't been since the eighteenth century! It was all so _irritating_!

Terence Higgs was unaware that his misery and frustration was causing his already curly blond hair to throw off tiny green sparks and curl even more tightly.

* * *

><p>George needed to talk to Rhea; talk seriously, urgently and in depth. So did Fred, in fact Fred probably needed to talk even more than George did. They'd both heard Dorea's War Declaration even as she'd been making it, had felt the exhilaration and fierce wildness of the Battle Madness that was said to haunt the Black Line. But they weren't Blacks. Grandma Cedrella was, but Dad was Weasley all the way through so they'd always considered themselves to have inherited their more provocative tendencies from Mum's side of the family. However it seemed that no, all the Black bits that had skipped Dad had come to them instead. Well, them and Ginny: she'd heard the Call too and had embraced it vigorously, giggling like a crazy killer all the way back to the common room.<p>

The idea of Ginny being more Black than Weasley filled George with completely rational terror; female Blacks were about ten times scarier than their male counterparts.

However Ginny's newfound scariness wasn't the most pressing issue, which was instead what the twins were going to do about supporting the Black War Effort. They were both seventeen now, so their parents couldn't make them come back to Hogwarts next year if they didn't want to, and the mail-order sales that Great-Uncle Iggy had organised for the prank products they'd invented were going incredibly well. He and Fred would easily be able to afford to rent a shop front in Diagon at this rate, as well as hire someone to man the sales desk whenever they were busy inventing new things. They weren't going to mass-produce any of the more dangerous or easily-misused ideas they were coming up with for Rhea to use against Lord Mouldy Warts, but they still had to produce them and do a bit more testing than had been possible at Hogwarts. Some things couldn't be tested on each-other or the brave and ever-willing Neville, who really was far too noble for his own good.

But still, having a good long sit down and chat with their dear, deadly and adorable cousin Dorea was something that they really needed to do as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>Tracy was not at all brave and she was quite happy that way. She was short and curvy like her mother, not very good at improvising and despite having an excellent memory and being very good with a wand, she wasn't all that interested in creating new spells either. But she did love her friends, all of her friends, and she had remembered something that Rhea had said back in the spring that really needed to be dealt with.<p>

Namely, the Basilisk waiting under the school for Rhea to take it home with her. The Enchanted trunk with its special extra-wide opening mechanism was all ready up on the sixth floor, but Rhea wasn't here. Dee was up to her neck in helping Zee, Hermione and Dawn organise everyone into something resembling order which meant that Tracy would have to do it herself. She could ask Ginny to help, since the younger girl had shared with Tracy about her run-in with the cursed diary, but she really wanted a solid, reliable presence to accompany her so she didn't feel so wobbly inside.

Tracy then noticed Rence moping over by the door to the library and realised that her little self-assigned mission would be just the thing to coax the older boy out of his funk. Really, his Rhea-centric view of the universe was completely adorable but he could be a bit dense at times. Armed with the communication mirror –so that Rhea could open the Chamber for them– Tracy marched over to the only boy she knew who should have been born back in the middle ages so that his relationship with her friend would actually have been considered admirable rather than just creepy, determined to make this work. Rhea wanted to take her giant snake home for the holidays, so Tracy would ensure the giant and deadly snake reached her friend. That was all there was too it.

Despite Tracy really not wanting to go _near_ a giant reptile capable of killing people by looking at them, she would do it for Rhea. Even if Rence had to catch her when she fainted.

* * *

><p>Sirius stared at his daughter in abject horror.<p>

"You want to _what_?"

His daughter stared back at him, her facial expression disturbingly similar to the one Great-Aunt Cassie had always worn when she thought he was being silly for arguing with her over something he had no control over.

"I am going to marry," she said patiently. "Right after my birthday, if possible. Definitely before the start of the next school year."

"But, but, _why_?" Sirius knew this was the abject chaos and disorder he'd always known his Dorry-Rose was capable of coming back to bite him after he had been lulled into a false sense of security; but why _marriage _of all things? It was like she'd deliberately picked the one thing he wanted her to do the _least_!

His daughter sighed, giving him Cassie's patented 'you are very slow today' look of fond tolerance. "Because I have taken enough OWLs for spending next year in Hogwarts to be pointless unless I skip ahead, which I don't want to do," she said patiently, "and once I am married I will be Lady Potter and recognised as fully adult, meaning that you won't be running around trying to keep up with all the Family responsibilities by yourself while also hunting down Death Eaters."

"You'll be barely fifteen!" Sirius protested. "That's not old enough to marry!"

"Sally-Anne will be marrying as soon as she completes her OWLs," Dorea said firmly, "as will several other girls. Aunt Lucretia married right after her OWLs too. Besides, do you _really_ want me to be in Hogwarts come September when the Minister is so fervently denying Voldemort's rebirth? They passed off Galet's death as 'a nutcase with a grudge' and claimed the 'upstanding citizens' discovered in full Death Eater regalia had been killed by a rogue Creature!"

Sirius had to admit that he did not want Dorea back in Hogwarts come the autumn, especially not after Dumbledore had tried to persuade him that his daughter had a duty to save the Wizarding population from their own cowardly ineffectiveness. The old fart had somehow come to the conclusion that Dorea was the Prophesied Chosen One, which was all garbage and proof he was going senile. That a _Death_ _Eater _had been teaching Defence all year was ample evidence that Dumbledore needed to have retired _years_ ago.

"You don't have to marry for me to keep you out of school!" he retorted.

Dorea sighed again. "Papa, my instincts tell me I _need_ to get married, the sooner the better," she said softly. "Not just for myself, but for my future husband's sake."

Sirius paused. His daughter's instincts had gotten quite terrifyingly accurate in recent years, more so than James's had ever been. It had been James' idea for Lily to delve into the Potter grimoires for a way to protect their daughter and it had worked beyond their wildest dreams. James had also had a number of ideas come to him out of nowhere that had proved to be utterly brilliant in retrospect and had sometimes pulled deductions out of nowhere that had saved both their lives during the War.

"Dorry-dearest, you're _sure_?"

His daughter smiled, not protesting the baby name. "Absolutely, positively and unavoidably certain. I'm going to have Luna, Hermione and Dee help me set up the Ritual properly and be my attendants, along with Dawn to ensure we don't make any mistakes."

Sirius sagged. His baby girl was getting _married_. At _fifteen_. And he wouldn't even get to veto the husband beforehand!

"Just… please, darling girl, make _sure_ he will respect you and care for you always, even if he doesn't love you as you deserve," he said, stepping forwards so he could hug her. She was barely an inch shorter than he was now; the little girl he'd fallen in love with as a baby and again at four was all grown up. He could feel a prickle of tears in his eyes and tried to stifle them; he wasn't going to cry!

"I promise," Dorea mumbled into his neck, hugging him back tightly. Sirius then realised that she was just as nervous about the whole idea as he was and resolved to support her as much as he possibly could. There was paperwork he could do to endorse this, he knew there was, and backdating covered over a multitude of sins. It he could make this look less hurried and desperate it would only benefit his daughter in the long run.

"I love you," he murmured into her hair. "I don't care who you marry, so long as you don't leave your aging father all alone to manage the Family without you."

He felt rather than heard her giggle. "I promise not to move out until I've provided both my houses with an heir of the appropriate gender, if ever," she muttered back. "That should take a few years and give you time to get to know my eventual spouse."

"Deal," Sirius said firmly, hoping this would work out for everyone involved. Voldemort was out there and they needed to kill off his pet snake before any direct confrontations would be worthwhile.

Of course, Sirius had all manner of plans for Riddle's supporters, oh yes indeed. Narcissa was proving a goldmine of information and was well worth the hassle of hosting her and eventually Draco in one of the Family houses. It was time to dust off some of the nastier Marauder prank ideas that Remus had succeeded in vetoing back when they were at school and see if he could give them a Black twist.


	41. Chapter 41

Beta'd by the fastidious InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of devotion and having faith <strong>

Despite not being allowed to leave the grounds of Black Manor, Dorea was still kept very busy on the days following Hogwarts letting out for the summer. She helped Remus sort out which of the Family's new dependents would be going where, which house-elves would be caring for them and what they would be required to do in return for the House of Black's hospitality. Her father wasn't running a charity after all, so everyone who was of age was required to be useful. Most of the women being sheltered were the wives of supporters and sisters of actual thrall-marked Death Eaters, but they also had Rabastan Lestrange's wife and three children, who were now residing in the town house on Grimmauld Place with Narcissa and Draco.

Hildegard Lestrange, former Hogwarts Head Girl and still unmarried at twenty-one, was the eldest of those children, her younger twin brothers being both newly sixteen. Randall and Rigel Lestrange were both as thin as their elder sister but had already surpassed her in height, making them look disturbingly skeletal. All three younger Lestranges were old enough to remember a little of what life had been like during the previous war and none wanted to go through that again; Hildegard had actually seen the Dark Lord once and had been terrified by him. She had a Ministry job and didn't want to lose the life she'd managed to build for herself. Randall and Rigel had been younger and remembered less, but they did remember hearing the screams of someone their Aunt Bellatrix had brought home to torture once. The entire family would much rather avoid the Dark Lord if at all possible, even if that meant never seeing their father or husband again.

Once everyone was settled in and Theo, Dee, Hermione and Zee had claimed rooms in Black Manor alongside the newly-graduated Dawn and Deborah, Dorea called the little group together so they could hash out what needed doing.

"There are basically two main areas we need to work in," Dorea explained. "Setting up for the War the House has declared and the Ritual I need to do in order to find a husband. And yes Hermione, I do really _need_ to marry as soon as possible, but the ritual can be tailored so that only someone who fits my requirements will be deemed suitable. I need Dee and Dawn for the ritual and I'd like Hermione to help as well, as well as Luna who is coming to visit after she's spent a week at home with her father.

"Prewetts One and Two will be over in a few days, so I was hoping that Theo, Zee and Debs would be willing to work with them on creating instant communication methods, decoys, escape plans and so on. My father says that only those who are of age are allowed to join the battle proper, but the rest of us can still get involved with planning, defending, healing and all the other equally important bits."

"Sounds good to me," Zee said easily. "Are you expecting anyone else?"

Dorea thought about it. "Trey said she'd be over this week, since she's got Baz in a trunk for me to take off her hands, Rence said something about wanting to talk to me and I expect the rest of my cousins and Ginny will be visiting since they all felt the Call. I don't know what the adults are doing since Papa's in charge of them, but everyone else who is underage will be looking to me to tell them what to do."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Dawn said brightly.

* * *

><p>Trey and Luna joined them the very next day, which led to Dorea having to introduce Luna to Basilea as the young raven was quite insistent on seeing Slytherin's Basilisk for herself. Baz obligingly wore a Charmed blindfold and answered Luna's questions as Dorea translated them. Unlike Fizz or even Bise, who despite being a grumpy recluse did understand English, Baz only understood Parseltongue. Dorea suspected that was a deliberate security feature, which was irritating as it meant the only way to get a smart basilisk would be to breed one and that was highly illegal, not to mention fiddly. Yes, everyone knew about the whole 'chicken's egg hatched beneath a toad' thing but that was like saying that wizards flew on brooms: while true, it did not really give you an idea of the number and type of spells that went into making such a thing possible. Omen Owls took well over fifty different spells applied over three generations of birds at specific points in their development, spells which thankfully did not need renewing over time.<p>

Trey joined the 'War' group while Luna joined the 'Ritual' group with Dorea; they had taken over the Heir's Parlour on the first floor of Black Manor with their books and notes and the various journals that Dorea was using to support her theories. They actually had the bare bones of the ritual already mapped out, but had run into difficulties as all her friends had different ideas of what kind of man she should marry. Hermione insisted on intelligent, because Dorea would be bored stiff otherwise, Dee said pureblood to consolidate her position, Dawn insisted on his being no more than ten years older than she was and Dorea could see that this argument was just going to run and run because she didn't really know what she wanted in a husband herself.

Taller than her would be nice, but wasn't really essential. Her match in power would be best, as that way he wouldn't feel threatened by her. Self-aware was really important, because her Occlumency meant that she knew herself intimately and she couldn't _stand_ people who lied to themselves. Capable of defending himself was also important, since she had so many enemies, and she secretly wanted a husband who would protect _her_ even though she didn't really need it. Luna had pointed out that her husband had to want children, which was important because she needed to have at least two of them to inherit her own Family titles without even going into providing heirs for her husband.

But what she really, truly wanted was someone who _understood_. Who knew the kind of pressures she was under as an Heir, didn't see her responsibilities as competition and would help her if she asked but otherwise left it to her discretion; a _man_, not an immature little boy. Most of all she wanted someone who could look at her and see her for who she really was, see the pain she'd grown through, the burdens she'd shouldered and the resolutions she'd made and look past them to her heart, guarded and hidden as it was. She was Heir and so she led, but she really was happiest when somebody else was making the big decisions and she just had to make the small ones, like making sure that everybody ate, the businesses were running smoothly and everybody had the necessary equipment to escape a Death Eater ambush. She wanted to be _cherished_.

But seeing as how she'd likely be marrying someone she'd never even before, she would have to settle for someone willing to shoulder her battles as his own, support her in politics, father and raise her children with her and respect her as a person. Hopefully it would be enough.

Moppet appeared by the fireplace with a small crack, catching Dorea's attention and causing the ferocious debate over her potential spouse to stop so the house-elf could speak.

"Mistress Dorea has a petitioner," Moppet said gravely. "Petitioner is waiting in the Small Hall."

Dorea quickly got up and hurried downstairs; for the petitioner to have gotten _inside_ the Manor meant it was one of her closer friends, suggesting something rather drastic had gone wrong with their home-life . She really hoped it wasn't Sally-Anne; if it was that would mean the marriage arranged for the following summer had fallen through somehow and the other girl would be a complete mess. Maybe it was Astoria; as Dee was no longer heir her friend could only pledge herself and Dorea knew Lord and Lady Greengrass considered it their duty to set up appropriate matches for their children. Their view of 'appropriate' might not mesh well with their younger daughter's though.

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><p>As it turned out, the petitioner was Rence, who was waiting patiently by the Floo in the emerald green dress robes she'd bought him for the Yule Ball with two trunks stacked up neatly beside him. He didn't <em>look<em> distressed; if anything he looked as contented as Dorea had ever seen him, eyes staring into space and habitual small, dreamy smile in place.

"Rence?"

The seventeen-year-old instantly removed his hands from his pockets and walked towards her, dropping on one knee in front of her and taking her hands in his.

"Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter, Heir Black and Heir Potter," he said in the measured tones of someone taking a solemn vow, "I Pledge to you my life and service, to use as you see fit, for as long either of us draws breath. This I swear to Magic, that I will serve you freely, willingly and with all my heart." Dorea felt the Oath take, the power shaking her all the way to her bones. Rence smiled sweetly and kissed her hands.

"Rence… why?" Dorea croaked, completely taken aback. She'd never asked for anything like _this_ from anyone; she didn't think she ever would either. Pledges were binding but Rence seemed to have gone out of his way to find one of the most stringent, personal and limiting oaths out there! What in Merlin's name was he _thinking_?!

"Lots of reasons," her friend –her liegeman now– said lightly. "First of all because you desperately need someone watching your back and this way nobody can prevent me from doing just that. Secondly because I really, truly and desperately want to be an Alchemist-Enchanter and you are probably the only person with access to the books which will let me do that who will actually let me _read_ said books. Thirdly because there is nothing I would rather do with my life than serve you."

Dorea was forcefully reminded yet again that Terence Galahad Higgs had been born in entirely the wrong century; he would have been much more at home in the court of King Arthur a thousand years ago.

"Do your parents know about this?" She had to ask. If he'd been underage she would have owed his parents a lot of money for giving up their son and heir, but since he was an adult Rence could sign his life away as he chose.

"Yes; well, my mother does. I told my father that the only way to study what I wanted to would be to Pledge to one of the Ancient Families so I could use their library and he said that you seemed the most trustworthy and well-read person to turn to." Dorea wanted to laugh, but didn't. Rence's father was middle-class. Muggleborn and probably knew nothing at all about oaths.

"Get off the floor," she said with a helpless smile, "then go and tell my father about this. Moppet?"

The house-elf pattered into view from where she'd been waiting in the corridor. "Yes Mistress Dorea?"

"Rence is now my dependent; see that he is moved into an appropriate suite then take him to my father."

"Yes mistress," the elf snapped her fingers, making the trunks vanish. "This way please, mister Rence sir."

Rence got up, brushed off his knees and followed after Dorea's personal elf. Moppet was learning from the now too elderly to work Tansy how to manage a household, just as Wispy had long since taken over for Tansy in the kitchen. Dorea suspected she'd be getting a replacement maid-elf at some point, but thus far Moppet was juggling her duties just fine.

Wandering dazedly back up the stairs to her parlour, Dorea really had to wonder what other surprises this summer had in store for her.

* * *

><p>Dorea's fifteenth birthday party was, as expected, the largest and most extravagant yet. She suspected that part of that was Papa trying to distract himself from her upcoming marriage and the rest was him doing his best to <em>support<em> said marriage by being as traditionally Pureblood as possible. This meant her gown for the occasion was full-skirted and short-sleeved in peach-coloured Acromantula silk and she was wearing _all_ her ivory pearls: earrings, bracelet, tiara and all the graduated pearl necklaces from the choker to the pearl rope. Her hair was done up on the back of her head for the first time –as an young lady it was no longer appropriate for her hair to hang down her back– and she felt very, very beautiful.

As it was her fifteenth birthday it doubled as her coming-out party, but since House Black was the only family to stage proper balls at the moment just about every other family invited with a child between fifteen and twenty had dressed said child up to the nines as well. Dorea suspected that the matchmaking matrons would be watching the dance floor like hawks and investigating the young men who caught their granddaughters' eye. Of course that went both ways: there were a lot of young men in smart robes present as well, most of whom were very pleased for the opportunity to flirt with sumptuously dressed girls they'd only ever seen in school uniform before, if said girls had graduated before last year's Yule Ball. The Hogwarts uniform was about as flattering as a burlap sack.

As belle of the ball, Dorea had to dance with certain people for politeness sake. Fortunately no Death Eaters had been foolish enough to attempt to attend –the Wards would have bounced them back into the Floo and off somewhere random– but there were still irritating and self-important snobs out there who weren't allied to Voldemort. Zacharias Smith was one of these, but at least it was only one dance. She also got to dance with Rence, Blaise, Theo, Draco and Neville, who had entirely grown out of his childhood clumsiness, as well as Ernie Macmillan and Anthony Goldstein. Cedric Diggory also claimed a slow dance, during which he quietly informed her that Hufflepuff house stood behind her and House Black in the liberation of Magical Britain from the Dark Lord.

Dorea had asked in return that he ask his fellow Hufflepuffs to come up with a theoretical government system that would maximise efficiency and function while minimising corruption and paperwork, as if they could design it she would support a Ministerial candidate willing to implement it. Cedric seemed quite taken with the idea as he became very animated, abandoning her at the end of the dance to go and discuss the matter with a handful of Hufflepuff alumni standing over by the windows. Not really minding, Dorea had availed herself of the buffet table and a glass of champagne, sitting out the next dance and debating family history with Cousin Gregory.

All in all the party had been a resounding success, though it was followed the next morning by a screaming argument between the various factions involved in setting up her Marriage Ritual due to them all being tired and exhausted. Dorea had eventually exploded a vase of flowers and shouted at the top of her lungs that the only person who had a say in the matter was _her_, because _she_ was the one who'd be getting married. This resulted in a half-day détente leading to quiet apologies over dinner, so on the second of August Dorea went to Potter Manor with Dee, Luna and Dawn to draw the Ward. She would have taken Hermione as well, but the Muggleborn was going on holiday with her family and had done very well indeed to be able to stay at Black Manor all through July. As it was Hermione had thrust an inch-thick wad of notes at Dee, entreated Rhea to "please, please be careful" and ordered Luna to tell her _all_ about it afterwards.

* * *

><p>Laying out a Ritual at any time was precise, nerve-racking and back-breaking work; laying out a Ritual that would see one of your best and closest friends married to whoever it wound up selecting –provided the man on the other end agreed, which was pretty much a given considering what a catch Rhea was– just made it all worse. Daphne had never doubted that Rhea trusted her implicitly, but if she had, this would have been proof. This level of trust was mind-boggling really; ensuring she lived up to it was going to be the hardest thing Daphne had ever done.<p>

Despite Rhea being the one with the final say in all the ritual's components, she had listened to everyone's suggestions –however poorly conceived some of them were– and made a scant handful of allowances. Daphne had been the one to persuade her friend that her husband needed to have both parents born of Magical lines; Luna's contribution was that said husband both wanted to have children and was prepared to assist in raising them. Hermione's contribution had been that Dorea needed a husband she could respect, which was startlingly perceptive of her really, and Dawn's insistence on the age limit was one that Dorea had included right from the very beginning. No lady wanted to marry an old man, especially if he was of an age to have daughters older than his own wife!

The girls had not been the only ones to make suggestions: Rence had pointed out that her husband needed to understand Dorea's responsibilities and the nature of the relationships she had with those Pledged to her; Dee could see how easy it would be for a more middle-class Wizard to mistake Rence for a live-in lover rather than a vassal. Blaise's observation had been more profound, as he had pointed out that, in order to keep in line the eventual Black children, her husband would need to be innately fierce and authoritative. Daphne agreed wholeheartedly with that observation; it really would not do for Rhea to marry a man who was meek. None of the Blacks could ever be described as meek; as introverted or detached from reality as some of them were, they were nonetheless a family of very passionate people which translated into lots of unruly behaviour as children.

Lord Black's only observation was that his son-in-law needed to have a sense of humour, be honourable and prepared to fulfil _all_ his responsibilities to Rhea as her husband. Which covered a great deal of ground, all things considered.

Fitting all this into a single Ritual layout was a challenge and a half, as Rhea insisted the wording not be too tight. Magic would always find a way, so trying to tie it too closely to any particular outcome would warp it in ways that could only be detrimental. Better to keep things loose, so that the magic could flow freely towards the best possible outcome.

Rhea's personal contribution to the Ritual had been deceptively simple: her husband had to be of the same Soulfire Affinity as her, in a comparable fundamental mental and emotional condition and sharing similar long-term goals to her own. Dee found that incredibly clever: even if the other peripheral conditions fell through, her friend would marry a man of similar overall temperament to her own, sharing her vision and able to empathise with her situation.

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><p>The Ritual was not ready to use until lunchtime on August 3rd, but Rhea decided to put it off until they had had a chance to eat and properly prepare themselves. Rituals were very sensitive to the mental state of those participating, which was the whole point of long, complex preparations beforehand.<p>

Dawn, Luna and Daphne herself would be washing and dressing in undyed silk robes for their roles as Handmaidens, while Dorea would be taking a full bath and putting on the silk and lace wedding-dress-nightgown hybrid that was traditional for this particular ritual. She would also be wearing a _lot_ of heirloom jewellery and holding the Potter House Rings which had in fact been created for use in this very Ritual some six hundred years previously. The then-heir of House Potter had been an Alchemist and had been looking for a bride who shared his interests, so had created a very particular set of rings that changed their shape according to the family background and identity of the Lord and Lady Potter wearing them. As they had not been used for over a century the rings were currently plain gold, each set with a large, delicately faceted orange sapphire larger than Daphne's thumbnail.

At seven o'clock Daphne stood on her point of the seven-pointed star, Luna opposite her in her own designated spot and Dawn off to her left, doing her best to stay calm and composed. Then Rhea finally entered the large, open basement area they had commandeered for this purpose and suddenly it all came on Daphne at once that by this time tomorrow her friend would be _married_. To a man she'd likely never even _met_ before and who might not even speak English. Why hadn't they put 'speaks English' in as a condition?! Of all the things to miss! She could only hope the oversight would be covered by one of the other conditions, as a marriage where husband and wife couldn't communicate clearly would be off to a very poor start. At least it was impossible for her to end up marrying somebody who was already in a relationship; that was ingrained in the Ritual's basic structure.

Then Rhea stepped into the centre of the star and gracefully began the steps of the dance that set the Wedding Ritual in motion. It was too late to back out now, so Daphne focused on pouring her power into the Runes spiralling out around them and concentrating resolutely on their shared purpose. Her friend, the daughter of an Ancient and Noble House to whom she had Pledged her allegiance and had stood beside her for as long as they had known each-other, _would_ find the best possible husband to stand beside her and support her! Daphne would not have it otherwise!

As Rhea glided smoothly through the steps Daphne could feel the power rising higher and higher around them in way that was both utterly focused yet thrillingly wild. There was Soulfire threaded through it as well, adding potency and shaping it in strangely beautiful ways. Then Rhea stopped moving and for a heart-stopping moment the whole world seemed to groan under the strain.

Then the Magic was gone and Rhea with it, leaving behind three girls all breathing heavily and a seven-pointed star traced on the stone floor that glowed a steady, shining orange.

"Well, it worked," Dawn said wearily, "but we won't know how well it worked for another twelve hours."

"So in twelve hours Rhea will be summoned back here?" Daphne specified.

"Yes: her and the jewellery at least," Dawn clarified; "the dress might not make it since silk is a very poor magical conductor. We'll need to have blankets ready just in case." The older girl sighed heavily. "Of course, then we'll have to hunt down her husband the hard way, but Dorea will at least know his name and family so it shouldn't be _too_ hard."

Daphne hoped Dawn was right, but with Rhea things rarely went as planned. That they had even resorted to this ritual in the first place was evidence enough of that.


	42. Chapter 42

Beta'd by the inventive InsaneScriptist.

So many reviews... I have awesome reviewers! Thank-you, all of you!

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><p><strong>Of passion and fury <strong>

In the new and still not entirely familiar master bedroom of the Varia Headquarters, Xanxus paced across the marble floor, a half-empty wineglass cradled in one hand. It was almost ten months since he had discovered he would never –_could_ never– inherit the Vongola and in that time his fury at being so betrayed had not cooled in the slightest. Instead his rage had sharpened, becoming ever more honed as he used the burning sense of purpose the discovery had instilled in him to put himself in a position to strike deep into the heart of the Vongola. He had made a name for himself, not just as the most intelligent and dangerous of Nono's sons –which he had already been considered to be– but as a brilliant, ruthless and devious killer. He had acquired personal followers, men who were loyal to him first and the Vongola as a whole second, and completely taken over and restructured the Varia in less than four months.

He now had everything he needed to take his revenge on the old man who had lied to him about everything and led him around by the nose, dangling the title of 'heir' over his head when it was forever beyond his reach. Xanxus hated being lied to, loathed with a burning passion trash who made empty promises and offered up prizes they never intended to deliver, so he was going to show the old bastard why _nobody_ played Xanxus for a fool, _nobody_.

Not even the Vongola Nono got to do that to him.

In a flash of wild rage, Xanxus was briefly tempted to throw his wineglass across the room and see it shatter against the wall, but reined himself in with a mental reminder that anger without control was a weakness. Instead he set the glass down firmly on the side-table beside the mostly empty bottle, sat down on the bed and took out his X-guns. He'd been working on the prototypes for a while, but these were his final models and he had built them himself from scratch in the week following the unwelcome discovery of his complete lack of Vongola heritage. They worked very well, but having used them for over half a year Xanxus already had a mental list of improvements he intended to put into his next pair, which would also be bigger so they could take a larger calibre of Dying Will Bullet.

Not that he needed larger calibre bullets, but larger bullets meant more Flame could be stored in them, which would in turn mean larger explosions. He could already turn a man's head into so much floating ash from over 100 metres away –more than double the range of normal handguns– but while impressive, it still wasn't quite enough. He wanted to be able to have the same effect on a person's entire body, leaving nothing but dust behind.

Cleaning his guns was therapeutic for Xanxus, for all they didn't need it as much as normal weapons did. Wrath Flames burned very powerfully, so there was very little residue left in the gun barrel after shooting. However proper care of firearms had been one of Xanxus' earliest and most fondly-remembered lessons, so he never skimped on cleaning his weapons if he could possibly help it.

* * *

><p>Xanxus had fully disassembled, cleaned and reassembled both handguns and reloaded both with new clips when his intuition twitched. Not in a bad, 'duck before the bullet goes through your eye' way but in the more subtle 'pay attention because here is an opportunity' kind of way. Like it had when he almost got knocked over by Lussuria right after the older teenager had been officially reprimanded, or when he'd walked into the front lounge that morning six weeks ago to find an eight-year-old boy with a crazy grin throwing knives at the wait staff.<p>

Then there was a sudden feeling of pressure and Sky Flames flashed across the room, sealing the doors and windows in an unusual application of Harmony. Xanxus stilled, X-guns held easily in both hands but otherwise relaxed. The Flames, while unusually pure and not belonging to anyone he'd ever met or sensed before, were soft, dispersed and not remotely aggressive. Quite the opposite: they hummed invitingly to his senses, Sun flickering lightly across the surface and Storm threading through the depths like veins in rock.

It was a truly encompassing Harmony, wider than he was used to feeling from the old man and pleasantly deep without being suffocating. The Vongola might have been the Family with the most experience of Flames and training Flame-users, but that didn't meant the people in the Vongola were actually getting the most out of their Flames.

In fact they usually weren't, since all the Mafia-trained Flame users were primarily taught how to use their Will in ways that were practical and beneficial to their respective Famiglias and what was good for the Family was not necessarily good for the individual. Lightnings in particular got the short end of the stick as they were usually trained to be reckless, self-sacrificing meat-shields or borderline-suicidal assassins. Just because the role of the Lightning Guardian was to draw fire away from the rest of the family didn't mean that teaching Lightning users to have no self-preservation whatsoever was a good idea; it was in fact a fucking stupid idea since a Flame user with no real sense of identity was a Flame user with no drive to better themselves and no imagination whatsoever. Xanxus found it damnably irritating as his Lightning Squad was both the smallest and least flexible in the Varia despite their easily meeting all of his expressed standards. Lightings tended towards obsession regardless, but the way they were trained before they become Varia was maddening to work around.

The foreign Flames filling the room intensified for an instant, blinding him. Xanxus had both guns pointed at the intruder who'd just appeared out of nowhere even as he blinked the spots from his eyes; how the fuck had they done that?! It wasn't an illusion and the room was still sealed, which meant teleportation and that shouldn't be possible. Well, clearly it _was_ possible, which meant that as soon as the intruder was dealt with he needed to start looking into ways to prevent people from randomly teleporting inside the Varia Headquarters. Security was important.

Once his eyes were working properly again Xanxus could see the intruder in his bedroom was a woman. Well, a _ragazza_ about his own age, probably about a year younger, tall and wearing ivory lace and silk with black curly hair piled on top of her head and draped in enough jewellery to fund a small war. Very fine, high-quality jewellery at that: her tiara had orange sapphires as large as the end joint of his thumb. She was tall too, barely fifteen centimetres shorter than he was, and had eyes in the most virulently vivid shade of poison green that he'd ever seen in his life. She was also one of the strongest female Skies he'd ever met –not that he'd met many as Skies were few and far between anyway and female ones were rarer– and as she focused on him his instincts went from humming happily to dropping the world's biggest ever info dump between his ears.

Suddenly he _knew_ the chick. She was an heir to an old and important family, like he'd been raised to be, and was being targeted by a bunch of overly controlling old men who wanted to take away from her everything she'd ever worked for. She had people relying on her, loyal followers needing her to direct them, business interests to manage, would-be allies to keep in line, enemies to kill and standards to meet. She cared deeply for the Family, put it before everything she did, but she was having to deal with trash who didn't give a shit about anything except their own agendas and it was pissing her off.

Like him, she was angry about what a bunch of old farts had done to the Family she loved. Like him, she had a personal agenda to shake her world to its foundations so it could be rebuilt better and stronger. Like him, she was waging war against weakness, complacency and permissiveness masquerading as love and compassion.

And like him, she needed a partner.

* * *

><p>There were a number of basic requirements for being considered as a potential candidate for the position of next boss of the Vongola. Firstly and most importantly, you needed to have the bloodline and be a Sky. Only Skies inherited. The reason Ottava had got the job despite having another six siblings was that out of four sons and three daughters she was the <em>only<em> one of Settimo's kids with Sky Flames.

Secondly, to be an heir candidate you needed a full complement of guardians or at least potential guardians. Out of the old fart's four kids all three sons were Skies, but only the youngest –Federico– had a full set of guardians. Enrico, the eldest, had five and Massimo only had two who were willing to deal with his shit. That one of those two was a Lightning said a lot about what a pathetic piece of trash Massimo was; Lussuria had been a prime candidate for Massimo's Sun Guardian but had been turned down not because he was in any way incompetent but because Massimo was homophobic and at their first meeting Lussuria had flirted with him.

Xanxus had since learned that Lussuria flirted with everyone to begin with then stopped if he actually liked you as a person, because Lussuria mothered the people he considered to be important to him. Massimo's point-blank refusal to consider him and complaint against the Sun's personal habits had earned Lussuria a reprimand, which Xanxus had wilfully ignored when he offered the slightly older teen a place in the Varia. Now firmly entrenched as a senior Varia Officer, Lussuria had become even more cheerfully blatant in ramming his flirtatious behaviour and personal flamboyance down other people's throats; he'd also lost most of the singing tension in his shoulders and the guarded look in his eyes, which meant that anyone complaining to Xanxus about Lussuria's attitude would be told to suck it up and get over themselves.

Thirdly, both the current boss and the head of the CEDEF had to approve of you as a boss candidate. Those were the only official requirements any would-be heir had to meet in order to be considered, but there were a number of other very important factors that had to be taken into account in order to separate out the acceptable candidates from the good ones.

For instance, a _good_ boss candidate had to be respected by the Famiglia's allies and feared enough by their enemies that when they did actually gain the boss position there wasn't a free-for-all as everybody tried to attack the Family at once. A change in leadership was always a weak point, so a boss candidate had to be _personally_ feared so that any would-be attackers would hesitate to antagonise him or her.

A good boss candidate also had to command the loyalty of their underlings, which meant being highly respected, slightly feared and knowing all the important things about the people under your command. You couldn't get the most out of your subordinates if you didn't know their strengths and weaknesses after all. Xanxus knew the sixty-odd people currently under his command much better than he appeared to, as despite not having ever had an actual conversation with anyone other than Squalo he still had a damn good idea of what was going on inside each individual head. As boss, that was a big part of his job.

However in the Vongola as in every other established Famiglia, a rather major point to be considered in selecting an heir was the matter of succession. A boss needed to have kids, so that one of those kids could become boss themselves one day. None of the old man's sons were married or even engaged; Federico went through women like wine but none of his relationships had ever been remotely serious. Enrico had women tripping over themselves to simper at him while batting their eyelashes but none of those pathetic bits of trash would ever be suitable wives for a Vongola Don. It said a lot about how shallow all those gold-diggers were that even Massimo had a following.

Xanxus had a following as well, though it had always been smaller since the snooty pampered trash looked down on him for being Nono's supposed bastard child. Since he'd taken over the Varia the following had shrunk further as he had proven he wasn't one to suffer fools and was perfectly willing to shoot women if the job required it. The few scum who still tried to catch his eye wouldn't even give him the time of day if his lack of Vongola blood ever became public, so Xanxus didn't give a shit about them.

Xanxus knew in his heart that he could never become Vongola boss and that his rebellion would likely cost him dear, but it did not deter him. The old fart was slipping up in his old age, making poor decisions because he was tired of leading rather than out of genuine benevolence, so for the Famiglia's sake Xanxus was going to do some serious shaking up before the complacency destroyed everything he loved about the Vongola. Of course he wasn't telling people his actual reasons: even Squalo thought he was attempting a coup so he could take over control of the Vongola for himself. Just because he knew his subordinates inside-out did not mean they knew him at all; they only knew what he showed them and he was better at hiding than they were at ferreting things out.

However since he was passing it off as a coup Xanxus had to plan his every action as though he really _was_ plotting to take over the Vongola, which meant he needed to consider the matter of succession and find a woman who wasn't trash to settle down with. Unfortunately women like that were vanishingly thin on the ground and few of them had the qualities a boss's wife needed to have. It made finding someone suitable, particularly someone he could honestly respect, a near-impossible task.

* * *

><p>In his heart of hearts Xanxus did actually want to get married, but his early childhood in the care of his whore of a mother had strongly affected his views on intimacy, love and sex. Xanxus did not consider sex to be intimate. Sex was just something else that people did together and sometimes did for money, like cooking, eating and killing. Similarly, flirtation and seduction were not intimate either: they were all about convincing the person you were using it on that they could trust you, regardless of whether or not that was actually true. At nearly seventeen Xanxus hadn't actually had sex with anyone yet due to spending most of the past year obsessively plotting his revenge, but he knew a lot about it from listening to more experienced individuals and had done several assassination missions which had involved seduction. Knocking out or even killing the stupid, gullible trash after gaining entrance to somewhere he shouldn't be or being given the information he'd needed was actually rather disturbingly easy for Xanxus, something his early childhood experiences were likely responsible for.<p>

Love however was special. Love was about trust earned and returned, being able to be yourself without even the smallest risk of betrayal. Xanxus had loved the man he believed to be his father and that he had been lied to for all of his life by that same man really burned. But that was just filial love, which a lot of people managed to get by without, so Xanxus could write the old fart off as a loss without too much trouble. Romantic love however was an entirely different animal, one he had no experience with whatsoever. Ottava always said that he'd recognise it when he encountered it because there would be nothing else it could possibly be, but Xanxus hadn't quite believed her.

Until now. Now he was staring at a girl whom he had never met, whose name he didn't even know, yet he knew all her deepest, most personal secrets and she knew he knew them. He was pretty sure she could see right through him like he'd seen right through her, yet she wasn't shocked or disgusted or outraged. Instead she was _smiling_ at him, a small, fond smile that made his heart clench in a way that was completely alien to him. Xanxus lowered his X-guns, setting them aside before stepping closer to the stranger.

"_Sposami_," he demanded huskily. Learning her name could wait; her marrying him was more important.

The girl's eyes widened and she beamed at him in mingled joy and relief, opening her clenched hands to reveal a pair of matched Sky rings which she offered to him. Xanxus walked right up to her to examine the rings more closely, then picked up the slightly more delicate one.

"Do you have any conditions?" his wife-to-be asked in respectful and lightly accented Italian. Xanxus judged her to be British; well-bred British at that. Interesting.

"What kind of conditions?" he asked instead.

"I am Heir to two Families, so I need to have two sons to inherit them," she explained, "but I would like more than just two children."

"I would like ten children," Xanxus admitted; it had always been a secret wish of his to have a large family and ten was his favourite number. However he did understand that women did all the hard work in pregnancy and childbirth, so a wife did get veto.

She didn't laugh at him or make fun of his dream. "How about I agree to ten pregnancies, then after that we see how we feel about things," she offered with a small smile. "Anything else?"

"I get to kill your enemies; as your husband your safety is my responsibility," Xanxus said bluntly. While a degree of independence was good, he didn't want the kind of wife who fought with him over every little thing just to prove she was her own person. As her husband he would be responsible for her welfare and he took his responsibilities seriously.

"Acceptable," she conceded, "provided I am allowed to defend myself and my children with lethal force in your absence."

An eminently agreeable condition; good to know he was marrying a women who wasn't afraid to do her own dirty work. "Granted. Do you have further conditions of your own?"

She paused, nibbling on her lower lip. "I ask that you not interfere in the running of my family affairs unless they clash directly with your own professional interests, and that even then you inform me of the matter and we reach a compromise between us. I will of course consult you, but as they are my inheritance I have ultimate authority."

"Deal." He wouldn't want her interfering with Varia matters either. "So, what's your name?"

Her cheeks went slightly pink. "Sorry. My name is Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter and I am Heiress Black and Heir Potter."

"I am Xanxus of the Vongola, Leader of the Varia," he told her. A year ago he would have called himself 'Xanxus Vongola', but he had no right to the name. The old fart hadn't even adopted him properly, simply taking him in and claiming him unofficially. Had he actually been Nono's son it would have been enough, but he wasn't so Xanxus really had no rights to anything at all. That was in many ways worse than being denied the Boss title; he was Vongola entirely on the old fart's sufferance and the next boss could toss him out if it suited them. "I take you, Dorea Rosamund Black-Potter, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, in war and in peace. I will love you, honour you and cherish you all the days of my life."

Taking her left hand he slid the ring on her third finger.

"And I take you, Xanxus of the Vongola, to be my husband," Dorea reciprocated readily. "I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, in war and in peace. I will love you, honour you and obey you all the days of my life."

As she slid the ring onto his finger Xanxus felt something in the air change, as though the Flames still humming around them had taken note of the promises made. However rather than ponder that he bent down to kiss his wife full on the lips; it may have only been nine o'clock in the evening but it was his wedding night and he fully intended to make the most of it.


	43. Chapter 43

Beta'd by the adorable InsaneScriptist.

And can I just say how blown away I am by the number of reviews I'm getting? Thank-you readers!

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><p><strong>Of details and adjustments <strong>

Dorea awoke slowly, perfectly content to bask in the warmth surrounding her, the morning light shining in through the room's one, small window and the strong arms wrapped possessively around her upper body. She was married; last night had been her wedding night and the husband Magic had selected for her was everything she had hoped for and more. He was even taller than her!

There was a low, incoherent growl by her ear and the arms around her tightened, her new husband drawing her closer and nuzzling at her neck in his sleep. Dorea smiled, letting her eyes flutter closed as she enjoyed the low hum of Xanxus' Flames synchronising perfectly with her own, their strength and activity indicating he used them regularly and knew them intimately. She was married and it was wonderful. She'd been a bit nervous about her wedding night, but it had turned out that her husband didn't have much more experience in that area than she did and had been perfectly happy to take things slowly. It had been nearly midnight before they finally had intercourse, but Dorea had discovered that sex was quite possibly one of the best things _ever_ and that she was a bit of a wildcat in the bedroom. Her new husband had scratches all over his back, a few more on his upper chest and bite-marks along his shoulders.

Not that Dorea was in much better shape herself: after discovering that his bride had managed to maul him Xanxus had grinned at her and then thoroughly held her down for the next round. She had faint bruises on her wrists from struggling, more bruises scattered lightly over the rest of her body from where foreplay had degenerated into erotic wrestling matches a few times and any number of hickies and bite-marks of her own. She was also pleasantly sore all over, especially in places she'd never really been aware of before. Not that she minded in the slightest.

However she only had twelve hours with her husband before the Ritual would whisk her away again, which since they'd only fallen asleep somewhere around three in the morning meant that she'd had barely four hours sleep –if that– and would be leaving in a little over two hours time. Which was far too soon and the very idea was already threatening to ruin her mood.

"_Already awake?_" her husband's deliciously low voice rumbled in her ear, his tone lending a certain dark suggestiveness to his liquid Italian purr. "_You really are insatiable, aren't you, wife of mine?_"

"_It's all your fault; I was never like this before marrying you,_" Dorea responded teasingly, rolling over so she could see Xanxus' face properly. "_Unfortunately however we don't have much time._"

"_Why?_"

"_You remember how I got here?_"

"O_bviously,_" her husband said, eyes now slightly narrowed in expectancy. Dorea had learned that the man she had married was not much of a talker, but his body language and the way his Flames shifted more than made up for his dislike of uttering more than a single sentence at a time.

"_It was magic,_" Dorea said bluntly, not being worried about breaking the Statute of Secrecy when she knew her husband definitely had two magical parents. He might not remember them –he probably didn't considering he'd not seemed to think he had a surname– but he was still Wizard born and so telling him was fine even if he happed to be a squib, which was still a possibility. "_I did a ritual to find myself a husband who was my match and it brought me to you. But the ritual only keeps me here for twelve hours; then I get taken back home and we have to find each-other again._"

Judging by his facial expression her husband didn't believe in magic, but he didn't say as much. Dorea had a feeling he'd seen all manner of really weird things in his lifetime and was willing to accept 'magic' as a temporary explanation until more precise details could be found.

"You're British, aren't you," he said in fluent, unaccented English.

"Yes, I am," Dorea agreed in the same language. "But you could spend a year looking for me in the public records and never find me; Magical people are very secretive."

Xanxus snorted. "Not so different from the Mafia then."

Dorea blinked. She'd married a Mafia man? Blaise was never going to let her live this down, she knew it; all the princess jokes about her marrying the dragon instead of waiting to be rescued were never going to stop amusing him. Never mind that Xanxus looked rather startlingly similar to her best friend and oath-brother, which suggested her husband was at least half Zabini. The Zabinis bred true, with their traditionally Italian yet alluringly exotic appearance and Blaise only differed in having slightly darker skin and faintly curlier hair. The feathers in her husband's hair also supported that theory; Zee's mother wore feathers too and had told Dorea they were a tradition that was almost instinctive. "I didn't know the Mafia trained its members in using Soulfire," she said instead. Abraxas' book had included biographies of Mafia members with Soulfire, but there had been no indication of it being systematic rather than coincidental.

"Soulfire?" Xanxus dragged them both upright, the sheets dropping to fold around their waists. "We call it Dying Will Flame." He did not answer her question, but Dorea didn't mind. She could keep her nose out of what he did for a living if that was what he wanted.

"_How soon do you want me to hunt you down? My father will want to meet you,_" she said instead, reverting back to Italian.

Xanxus frowned. "_I'm in the middle of something risky, so how about two weeks? I'll meet you in the portico of the Cathedral of Palermo at noon on Thursday the fifteenth._"

Dorea nodded, not voicing her disappointment at how very far away that felt. Her husband had commitments and it would be selfish of her to expect him to put them off for her. Slipping out of Xanxus' arms she got off the bed, paused as she took in the deep, jagged tears in the bodice of the dress she'd been wearing and instead appropriated the crumpled dress shirt she had stripped off her husband the previous evening. It was very large on her but at least that meant she would be able to do up the buttons at the front.

"_What are you doing?_"

Dorea turned around, raising an eyebrow at her husband's distinctly lustful curiosity. "_You ruined my dress,_" she said blandly, "_so I think I'll wear this._" She reached for the buttons but Xanxus was off the bed and upon her before she could do more than fumble for a buttonhole, his red eyes alight with hunger. Pinned to the bedroom wall, Dorea had no objections whatsoever to her husband's choice of morning activity.

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><p>Much as Xanxus would have liked to continue finding new and intensely enjoyable ways of making his wife scream, she had less than fifteen minutes left and that really wasn't long enough. So instead he knelt over where she was sprawled on the floor and carefully buttoned up his shirt over her heaving chest. It was very gratifying to see her lying there so dazed and trembling, her legs having given out the moment he let go of her. As she gasped for breath, hands shaking even as they braced against the floor as though she was afraid of falling off it, Xanxus carefully walked around the room looking for all the jewellery she'd been wearing the previous evening. Necklace on side table by the wine glass, bracelet kicked under the wardrobe, girdle lying slightly under the bed, earrings in two different corners of the room and tiara dropped between the bed and bedside table –on his side of the mattress. By the time he'd found everything –all still miraculously intact– his wife had recovered slightly and was levering herself into a sitting position.<p>

"_Eccoti,_" he said shortly, dumping the fortune in gemstones into her lap. He wasn't sure how he felt about all this now. Oh he loved his wife –she was perfect from what he knew of her thanks to the major infodump from the 'ritual' the previous evening and a night spent in her company– but he was very likely to die in the attack on the Vongola Headquarters in a week's time and widowing her would be a betrayal of her trust. He also hadn't given her anything at all and it didn't sit right with him. She'd even provided the wedding rings, for God's sake!

However the room was sealed and it wasn't like there was anything in the Varia Headquarters that would make a suitable gift for his new wife anyway. He would have to order something specially, or perhaps make something for her himself.

Then Xanxus' eyes fell upon his X-guns and inspiration struck. The guns were pretty small, easily small enough to fit into his wife's hands, and the recoil was pretty much non-existent. They would do as a first gift, since just because their engagement had lasted all of the five seconds it took to name and agree to conditions didn't mean she didn't deserve to get a proper betrothal gift. He was going to make himself a new pair anyway, so they were ideal!

As his wife set about putting her jewellery back on Xanxus fished his spare clips out of the pockets of the jacket hanging on the back of the door and retrieved the metal suitcase from the bottom of his wardrobe that contained all the rest of the ammunition for his X-guns. Since the new pair would use larger calibre ammunition he had no use for any of what he had here, so he might as well give it all to his wife. Putting the spare clips back in the case, he snapped it shut and carried it over to his gorgeous bride. She had managed to put her earrings back on, as well as the necklace and the tiara which looked very fetching on her loose, tousled curls which were hanging down her back to her waist, but the girdle was now wrapped casually around her upper arm and she was still fiddling with the bracelet. Her heart still hadn't settled back to normal either, which gave him a warm, smug feeling.

"_Here; these are for you,_" he said shortly as she looked up at him, dropping down into a crouch and handing her the guns. "_The case has specialised ammunition in._"

"_Specialised how?_" his wife asked curiously, handling the X-guns in a practised and capable manner. It was a relief that he wouldn't need to teach her basic firearm safety when they only had about five minutes left. Britain had stringent laws against firearms, so it was a rare Brit who knew how to use them.

"_It will absorb and channel your Flames,_" he explained succinctly, lifting her to her feet and dragging her over to the slightly open window. "_Watch._"

Taking one of the X-guns off her he sighted on a pigeon perched on a nearby spire, called up his Wrath Flames and fired. The bird vanished in a flash of red-orange, completely vaporised. "_The guns channel the Flame into the bullets, which store it until you fire and expend it on impact. I'll make you more bullets later, but these will be enough for a few weeks._"

She accepted the X-gun back, clutching both weapons to her chest with one hand as she took the suitcase from him with the other. "_Thank-you,_" his wife said earnestly, going up on tiptoe to press a chaste kiss against his lips. "_Until Thursday after next, husband mine. I love you._"

Then there was a whisper of Sky Flame and she was gone. Xanxus stared irritably at the empty space were she'd been standing; okay, _now_ he believed that this 'magic' thing she had mentioned was more than just Flames and psychic powers and as soon as the 'coup' was over and done with he was going to make his wife explain _everything_ to him so he could learn do that too. Any underground society would need a strict and heavily-enforced code of secrecy in order to _stay_ secret, but since 'magic' had brought her to him that implied _he_ had magic too, or at least the potential for it. Learning what it entailed and working out how to use it could only benefit him and the Vongola in the future, even if he couldn't actually tell anybody about it.

* * *

><p>Kicking about in Potter Manor for twelve hours, waiting for Dorea to return, was not really restful despite the house-elves bringing them hot chocolate and sleeping on some of the most comfortable beds known to Wizardkind; Daphne for one slept rather badly. Somewhere her friend was getting married and <em>having her wedding night<em> –Daphne couldn't help blushing in confusion at the implications of that idea– with a man whom they hadn't even been able to investigate beforehand. She did eventually drop off, but she awoke early and rather than lie staring at the canopy of the four-poster she got up and wandered downstairs for breakfast.

Despite it being six in the morning both Luna and Dawn were already up and dressed and there was a lavish spread on the table of the Breakfast Room. They had probably slept equally poorly. Daphne murmured a scant "morning," to them both and availed herself of the French croissants sitting in the middle of the table; Dorea favoured a continental breakfast outside of school, not being at all partial to greasy fried food early in the morning, which to Daphne's mind was highly civilised and something Hogwarts ought to take note of. The one good thing about the Triwizard Tournament was the diversity of food that had been available at mealtimes throughout the year, including at breakfast. Unfortunately the diversity had vanished with the visitors, informing Daphne that the stodgy, traditionally British diet they were limited to was something the elves conformed to out of obedience rather than lack of experience. Something else to blame Dumbledore for.

"Two more hours," Dawn said quietly, staring down into her cup of tea as though it contained the secrets of the universe. If Dawn really did have Seer talent, it actually might.

"I'm sure Rhea is just fine," Luna said serenely. "She's probably having some last-minute energetic fun with her new husband; they might even be making a baby. I'd like to help her look after a baby; I've always wanted younger siblings."

Daphne choked on her tea.

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><p>At ten to eight all three girls were back downstairs in the basement, but while Daphne was fretting and Dawn seemed altogether distracted, Luna was wandering around trying doors and investigating the potions laboratory she'd found through a door that looked like an alcove unless you were paying attention. Daphne was just glad Luna was no longer talking about sex; it had been embarrassing and she hadn't known what to say to the younger girl. Not that sex was in any way taboo, but it was private and not something girls were supposed to talk about over breakfast. Not even girls that were of age aired things like that over meals, though Dawn had apparently missed Luna's indiscretion due to her own ever-increasing distraction as the morning dragged on.<p>

Luna had picked up on a lot of the little social cues and standards that all the girls in Dorea's group adhered to, but just because she knew what was socially appropriate didn't mean she was going to abide. She had come a long way from the shy dreamer Rhea had dragged into their study group back in second year, but she was still Luna Lovegood and the cheerful eccentricity was not about to go away any time soon. That Luna had sat a number of her OWLs already and passed them with flying colours indicated she wasn't going to be left behind simply because she was younger; the letter that came with her results had revealed that her request to be allowed to skip a year had been granted and she would be starting fifth-year alongside Daphne come the autumn.

Five minutes to eight. The seven-pointed star drawn in orange flame continued to pulse gently as though in time to a slow heartbeat. Daphne wondered how the Soulfire had affected the ritual, because she had no doubt that it had done so. It was not magic for all that it flowed along the same lines and followed some of the same basic rules. It was spiritual, not born of blood and mind but something more ineffable and in many ways more potent. Magic was all very well –if more flexible than Hogwarts' professors portrayed it– but Soulfire was all about who you _were_. It was your very will enforced directly on the world without a medium to soften the blow, a raw interaction between the soul and physical reality.

It staggered Daphne sometimes how _willingly_ Rhea's friends had taken to the subject, almost heedless to the dangers involved. True, she hadn't hesitated either, but unlike the majority she did know the risks. Soul Magic was one of the least understood magical disciplines, the knowledge usually passed down from master to apprentice and consisting largely of anecdotal evidence of what had worked, what hadn't and cautious speculation as to why. But the others hadn't cared about that: all that had mattered to them was that Rhea was learning it and had offered to share the knowledge with them.

The orange glow from the ground briefly increased in intensity before flaring up and dying away, revealing Rhea standing in what would have been the middle of the star. Daphne blinked at her friend's dishevelled appearance: her hair was tangled and hanging down her back, her jewellery was crooked and she was wearing a partly-buttoned Muggle dress shirt that barely covered her behind. Daphne then noticed the hickies, small bruises and teeth-marks and flushed scarlet; was that what she thought it was that dripping down the inside of her friend's leg?

Luna then hurried over with a vial in one hand, dropped down and used her wand to scoop up the dribbling white… fluid… into her vial before waving her wand over it a few times.

"There we are; against future need," she said brightly. "Is it nice being married, Rhea?"

Rhea laughed, the sound so wonderfully free and joyful that Daphne's heart leapt in her chest.

"Being married is wonderful," she said honestly, "but I think I need a shower. Oh, and I really must put my wedding gifts somewhere safe where nobody will try and fiddle with them."

"Wedding gifts?" Dawn raised an eyebrow at the guns. "Your husband gave you guns?"

"He wants me to be safe and wants to be the one keeping me safe," Rhea said happily, her smile filling her face as she almost bounced in glee.

"Good," Daphne said, her taunt nerves finally unwinding a little at her friends sustained and unstinting joy. "I'm so pleased for you Rhea!"

The new Lady Potter giggled, hugging the two Muggle weapons to herself. Time spent with the extended Black family and Hermione out on the Long Lawn had at least informed Daphne of how startlingly dangerous modern Muggle weaponry could be, which had likely been the point. "He's _perfect_ for me," she confided, "but I think there's something funny going on in his family background, so we'll have to do some digging. He looks far too much like Zee for it to be a coincidence but didn't claim the Zabini name."

"Ooh, a mystery!" Luna chirped as they hurried up the stairs to the nearest bathroom. "How exciting!"

Daphne just hoped Rhea's new husband wasn't as prone to being the focus of unexpected conspiracies she was.


	44. Chapter 44

Beta'd by the illustrious InsaneScriptist.

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><p><strong>Of decisions and keeping promises <strong>

Xanxus had known, intellectually, that marriage changed people. He had seen his foster-sister Maria-Chiara get married and how both she and her husband had been different afterwards. Having kids had changed them both further, but in good ways. Big sister Rika had gained a softness that had balanced out her ruthlessly utilitarian personality that was unusual for a Rain and her husband had grown a spine and learned to think before speaking. Of course, both of them had also become _very_ proactive in ferreting out and disposing of threats to themselves and their kids, which was the bit Xanxus had approved of the most because threats to Nono's daughter were by definition threats to the Vongola as a whole.

However he hadn't really _understood_ how marriage changed a person until he found himself married and then having to deal with the changes without his wife. It had taken him less than a day to start missing her, for God's sake! Okay, a lot of that was definitely lust now he'd been introduced to the sheer enjoyment that could be found in sex, but there was something more fundamental to it than that. He missed the Harmonising of her Flames with his, which he'd barely even noticed until she wasn't there anymore and it felt like a gaping hole had opened up under his heart. Admittedly he'd only felt mildly uncomfortable until he took off his wedding ring so it was his own damn fault for doing so, but he didn't want Lussuria noticing –because Luss _would_ notice– and given the precariousness of his current position letting it get out that he had a wife would only place her in danger, member of a secret magical society or otherwise. While _he_ hadn't previously been aware of the existence of said secret magical society, that didn't mean that others within the Mafia and maybe even the Varia were ignorant of it. If the news got out some of his enemies might be motivated and informed enough to find her.

He'd placed the ring on a chain around his neck, hidden inside his shirt to lie against his heart. It did help a little, but the nagging feeling that he wasn't honouring his new bride as he should be still made him very irritable.

There was also the matter of the wedding dress, which had been more of a wedding nightgown than the kind of dress a lady should really be wearing in public. The bodice seams were entirely gone, but that was because Xanxus hadn't had the patience to deal with the fiddly little buttons and had instead used a tiny, impeccably controlled tendril of Wrath Flames to dissolve the stitching holding the seams together. Nothing had actually ripped, so if he wanted to see his wife in the dress again he'd just need to have it mended, or else fix it himself. He was certainly no tailor but seams were not exactly what you could call difficult. Boring yes, but not hard; probably no more than a few hours work on the outside.

Having a _dress_ is his wardrobe would definitely attract unwanted attention, but Xanxus couldn't bring himself to destroy it no matter how sensible that would be. Eventually he turned it inside out so none of the lace was visible and hid it at the back of his wardrobe with the various traditional costumes of other nations that had somehow survived the undercover missions they had been bought for. Even if someone found it there it could easily be passed off as having been put in there by accident by the servants.

Another unexpected hitch was that in planning his strategy to assault the Vongola Headquarters he found himself considering what contingencies he should take for his wife's benefit. However as soon as these came to mind he was instantly reminded that he _couldn't_ name her in a will because that would bring her to the Mafia's attention without him there to protect her, couldn't transfer money to an account for her because he had no way of getting in touch and couldn't order his men to seek her out and serve her in his stead because they wouldn't be able to find her. All this pissed Xanxus off further and he resolved not to die no matter how badly his 'coup' went, as he would not betray his wife like that. It was bad enough that he'd not be seeing her for most of two weeks; who knew what could happen to her in that time, armed with his X-guns or not. He didn't even know if she had Guardians to protect her!

Not having his guns did get noticed, but only Squalo had the temerity to ask why and after Xanxus threw a half-empty bottle of wine at his head for the question nobody else mentioned it. Stranger was that nobody had noticed that he'd been sealed in his room for twelve hours or mentioned hearing his and his wife going at it all night and in the morning as well. This was more evidence to the existence of magic and it being something he really needed to learn about, because being able to hide sound and somehow keep people from noticing things would be an incredibly useful thing to learn. It clearly didn't need constant focus to work, which put it above Mist Flames since he could only use those while concentrating on the task to hand, which made using them to hide the fact he was intimate with his wife impossible. Magic was clearly some kind of area effect and could be programmed on a timer –as the ritual had been– which would be incredibly useful on missions.

Keeping himself from dwelling on his wife and how he was already failing as a husband was however something Xanxus had to go on doing, because it was less than a week until the big day and making sure none of the old fart's Guardians got suspicious was vitally important. Especially Visconti; the Cloud Guardian was a canny old bastard and the only one of Nono's Guardians not to have gotten soft and complacent in recent years. Xanxus' plan involved targeting the Lighting and Sun Guardians separately so they couldn't protect their Boss, then having his men pick off the other Guardians while he went after the old fart in person.

Squalo would probably stick with him, but Xanxus was certain his own Guardians could handle the unprepared Cloud, Mist, Storm and Rain so long as they weren't matched up against their counterparts. Instead Bel would be up against against the new, green Rain, Mammon against the experienced Cloud, Levi against the Storm with the metal prosthetic arm and Luss against the strong but inexperienced Mist while Ottabio, his Cloud and the former Varia Leader's second-in-command, coordinated the squads and kept their line of escape open. Not that Xanxus was intending to escape, but he did have to plan this properly and that meant preparing for all possible contingencies no matter how unlikely.

Xanxus didn't actually like Ottabio very much as the man was a coward under his obsequiousness, but the man was the strongest Cloud in the Varia and was terrified enough of his new leader to do as he was told without question. It wasn't perfect but it would have to be enough.

* * *

><p>Dorea didn't like waking up alone after her marriage. Before it had been normal and not even worth noticing, but every morning since that languid and wonderful awakening in her husband's arms it hurt a little bit inside to open her eyes and be alone in bed. It probably wasn't the best start to a marriage, to have to forgive your husband every morning and evening for not being there. She had to remind herself that her husband had not expected to be married when she showed up in his room and life without prior warning and had already had a life which involved schedules needing to be kept.<p>

To distract herself Dorea got drawn into Alchemy with Rence and took on an Enchanting project so that she would be able to communicate with all her friends face-to-face despite them having to go back to Hogwarts. Her plan for this was simple: mirrors. Not easily-damaged glass mirrors like the little hand mirror Dorea used to get in touch with her father in emergencies, but decent-sized polished silver vanity mirrors that could be put in leather cases and disguised as notebooks. The enchanting process was rather long and slightly tedious, as it had to be repeated for every single mirror with no divergences in the Rune Arrays, but it was engrossing and exacting and that was what she needed right now.

Dorea ended up doing most of the work on the mirrors simply because Rence had dived headfirst into the Alchemy books she'd handed to him and could not be dragged away from them. Part of the problem was that despite her vassal's extremely respectable reading speed he had a _lot_ of material to cover: the Potters had built their initial wealth and influence upon Alchemy, later increased it with Enchanting and only in the most recent three hundred years had let themselves slip into being 'merely' Transfiguration Masters, Warders and political leaders.

The Potter family had started out with the son of a druid who, when the Romans invaded, rather than get himself killed fighting back chose to lie low and apprentice himself to a potter. The young Briton had then applied his basic magical skills to producing better pots, developing glazes and imbuing his creations with certain properties. This was Alchemy at its most basic: permanently altering the nature of something. His sons had developed his techniques further and one of their children had been noticed to have magic and been taken on as an apprentice by a Roman Wizard. That young man had later applied his Magical education to further invest in the family pottery and as well as branch out into metalwork, particularly jewellery. He had also been the first Potter to be literate, so he had written down everything his parents, uncles and grandfather had discovered for his successors alongside his own achievements. That Potter was only the beginning of over one and a half _thousand_ years of Alchemical tradition in the Potter family, with the grandmother of the famed Nicholas Flamel having also been a Potter. That long and distinguished heritage translated into a vast mountain of notes, scrolls, grimoires, texts and heirlooms, many of them written in pre-medieval dialects.

Rence was fluent in Latin and literate in Old and Middle English, so he was highly reluctant to drag himself away from the unexpected feast of information. That it would likely take him _years_ to read and properly categorise everything was part of the problem, despite several previous Potters having clearly gone over everything themselves to translate, expound and clarify at different points in history. However it was equally clear that nothing had been read or updated since the time of the Statute of Secrecy, which was a long, long time ago. Many new scientific discoveries had been made since them and would affect the interpretation of many things the medieval Potters had documented. Not just on the magical side of things, as chemistry and related disciplines had really bloomed on the Muggle side, especially in the last two centuries.

Dorea didn't really mind Rence's obsession; it was better than him fawning over her and helped them establish a new routine as Liege-lady and Knight-vassal, which was very important as Rence was no longer her equal. He had Magically set himself a step beneath her, which had to be acknowledged and integrated into their routine. He was no longer a close friend, the boundaries between them had been moved and settling into the new normal was vital. Especially since Dorea was married now and her husband could –rightly– take offense if her vassals were overly familiar.

His being obsessed with Alchemy also kept him from fussing over her when she moped, since he failed to notice it at all. Dorea knew that wouldn't last as he would soon settle into a less consuming routine, but for now and probably the whole of the coming month, Rence would have his head in a book, scroll or packet of parchment, taking notes and trying to get a feel for the subject.

Dorea had fun with the mirrors: she Enchanted them to be able to communicate with her Master mirror and with all of the other mirrors, then added Privacy Wards so other people wouldn't notice them being used and wouldn't be able to overhear what was being said. Then she Enchanted the cases so they could be made to resemble textbooks and added Wards against theft, damage and general notice; nobody would attempt to leaf through the 'book' in search of information even if they were looking for a copy of the text whose cover the mirror case mimicked.

Part of the basic enchantment was a tricky bit of Runework that enabled her to talk to more than one person at once, but that was only possible if the Master Mirror was active. Dee could call Trey _or_ Zee, not both, but she could call Dorea and have _her_ then get in touch with the other two if necessary.

Within a week of marrying Dorea had made twenty five mirrors to go with her Master Mirror, judging that to be enough for the time being. Only practice and experience would enable them to work out the kinks of her new invention and come up with ideas to improve them. As many of the Enchantments used were proprietary Potter ones, this was not something she could delegate to the ingeniousness of the Twins, but she was sure they'd come up with plenty of ideas for her to implement.

* * *

><p>Xanxus was fighting for his life against the old fart, actually having to give it his all to avoid getting plastered across one of the columns holding up the basement of the Vongola Headquarters like so much chunky paste.<p>

It was fantastic.

"I never knew you had it in you… you senile old fart," he gasped out, a manic grin on his face as he stood opposite the old man, Squalo huddled behind a pillar a good distance away making an effort to stay awake and keep his entrails on the inside where they belonged. That wound had been dealt by Nono himself, as up until that point the damn shark had remained unscathed and only slightly blood-spattered.

The assault had been a remarkable success: while there had been more armed members of the Famiglia in Headquarters than he had expected despite his attacking slightly after breakfast was due to begin, his plan to divide and defeat Nono's Guardians had gone off beautifully. The Sun had died almost instantly, the Lightning had been the next to fall and the last he had seen of his own subordinates Bel had been happily slicing up the young Rain despite being nearly twenty years the man's junior while Mammon engaged the dangerous Cloud head-on.

Nono hadn't been there on the front lines –the coward– so Xanxus had needed to hunt him down. He'd blasted his way through most of the upper echelon of the Vongola's non-Flame-capable fighters in achieving just that, Squalo right beside him. They'd found the old fart in his office, which was now more than a little bit wrecked, and had followed the bastard down the secret passages into the basement, where there had finally been enough space to really go all-out.

The columns holding up the roof above them looked like they'd been chewed on by giant rats, some of them having lost more than half of their mass. He might not have built himself a new and improved pair of X-guns yet, but that didn't mean he couldn't deal serious damage bare-handed.

"Iemitsu asked me not to kill you, but with so many sacrificed as the Boss I cannot let you live," the old man said, his sceptre held in front of him with Sky Flames burning at its head.

Xanxus scoffed. Iemitsu wanted him kept alive? What a joke! The new leader of the CEDEF really was a fool. The half-Japanese man didn't know anything about Xanxus beyond what he'd made up to fuel his own delusions and if the old fart in front of him thought that saying that kind of thing would manipulate him into thinking well of the idiot then he really _was_ going senile on top of going soft.

Then Nono moved to land a killing blow and Xanxus finally verbalised all his rage at being betrayed, all his fury at being deceived and his complete and utter abhorrence of everything the permissive and spineless old fart in front of him was doing to the Famiglia. He edited out anything that might clue the old man into the existence of his wife and deliberately ignored the fact that Squalo was well within hearing distance and conscious; if he _did_ die, then his wife would come looking and hopefully find the Shark, who could tell her what happened. It would be a piss-poor cop-out but he owed her that much at the very least.

"… and now you know that, I'll kill you!" he finished, calling up his Wrath Flames around his hands and charging.

He could see that the foolish old fart had divined the _true_ meaning of his words, the _real_ reason he'd staged this coup. The Vongola Hyper-Intuition ensured the old fart had got the message. The way he flinched ever so slightly and his wrinkles seemed to deepen gave Xanxus a vicious feeling of satisfaction. The overly permissive dotard now had his eyes opened to _all_ his mistakes and that meant Xanxus had _won_. Even if Nono killed him like he'd have to in order to not have the entire Famiglia rebel against him, Xanxus had still been _right_ and the old fart _knew_ it!

"I'm so sorry everyone," the old fart murmured as Xanxus leapt for the kill, "I have to do this, after all…"

Damn right you do, Xanxus wanted to say. But instead of searing, burning Sky Flames eating away at him he felt icy, suffocating cold.

"What the hell? What's this technique?" he choked, gazing in horror down at the ice encasing his hands. His manifested Wrath Flames were just _gone_! He could still feel them burning within him, but it was a muted burn and it was fading by the second. Then he made the mistake of glancing up to meet the old man's eyes and he _knew_ what was going on.

Somehow he was being frozen, completely frozen solid: he wouldn't be dead, but he wouldn't get to live either.

The very idea of such an imprisonment filled him with such outrage and bitter betrayal that he couldn't help the roar of animalistic fury that escaped his throat. How dare the _bastard_ do this to him! How _dare_ the old fart chicken out of killing him at the last moment and pick an easy way out! How dare he force Xanxus to _break_ his _promise_ to his _wife_!

As the ice closed around his head and the cold consumed him, Xanxus' last thought were for the fierce, cunning and completely worthy woman he'd bound himself to.

_I will protect her! I will slay her enemies! I will not_–

* * *

><p>And this is it for now! I'd apologise for the cliffhanger, except I'm not sorry at all... as I don't have any more chapters written up. I am so tired right now it really isn't funny and Muse is equally exhausted by my abrupt forey into employment. When there are more chapters I will start uploading them again.<p> 


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